FrUk One Shots
by killerkitty15
Summary: This is a series of one shots about FrUk (and the FACE family) in many forms, in many alternate universes. Shots rated T to M (M includes smut of the yaoi, yuri and hetero variety). Will do many different themes and what not but ALSO takes suggestions if placed in the review/comment section.
1. At the Beach -FemEnglandxMFrance (FACE)

**THIS IS A BUNCH OF ONE SHOTS ABOUT FRUK AND THE FACE FAMILY**

**WILL INCLUDE BUT NOT LIMITED TO:**

_**Smut (yuri, yaoi, hetero)**_

_**Fluff**_

_**Nyotalia**_

_**2ps**_

_**Cute family moments**_

_**Cute COUPLE moments**_

_**Nekotalia (because i like cats)**_

_**Nation verse**_

_**Human verse**_

_**AUs in general**_

_**Ratings T to MA**_

**~I also accept requests~**

**NOW WE BEGIN!**

* * *

_**1# At the Beach -Fem!EnglandxM!France (FACE)**_

The salt of the ocean clung to the insides of Francis' nose, his arms crossed behind his head as he inhaled deeply. This was definitely what his family needed. He was laying on a beach towel, underneath a beach umbrella with his feet in the sun, being warmed and sunglasses over his eyes while his wife of twelve years lounged on the towel beside his. Just the sound of waves crashing, seagulls crying and children playing had a relaxed smile stretching his lips and he looked over at his beautiful wife. His wife, Alice, had her body propped up on one elbow, her left arm holding a book that she was currently reading. Her glasses her perched at the end of her button nose, her adorable, bushy eyebrows smoothed in relaxation, her long, blonde hair in her standard pigtails and a bikini with the English flag on it covered her unmentionables. The sun shown on her, making her seem like a studious angel, making Francis' breath catch at her beauty -her effortless _radiance_ -and his libido stir. _Why did they have to be in public?!_

"Mon amour, w'at are you reading?" he asked with a relaxed smile and lazy blink.

Pushing up her glasses with her slender, agile index finger, she turned to look at her French husband with electric green eyes that danced like ocean waves and glittered like the sun. "A novel by Nicolas Sparks," she said simply, dog earring her page before closing her book and placing it on the towel next to her hip, the way her words blending together and curled at the edges made a shiver run down Francis' spine. It wasn't his fault his very British wife was very, _very_, hot and sexy and _cute, _"Have you been watching the kids, frog?"

"Oui, oui," Francis said rolling onto his side, head held up by his right hand and elbow, "Zhey are fine. Zhey are playing in ze water."

Alice pressed her cupid bow lips in a thin line, eyes darting around for their two children, Alfred at ten and Madeline at seven. She finally found them splashing and swimming in the water, Alfred pouncing on Madeline and dunking her. "_Alfred_!" she snapped the panic edging her sentence almost perfect masked by anger and disappointment, "Don't you dare dunk your sister, young man, you and I know that she cannot swim well!"

"M'sorry, Mommy!"

"Don't apologize to me, apologize to Madeline!"

"Sorry 'bout dunkin' you, Sissy~!"

"I-It's ok, Al!"

With that issue taken care of, Alice lounged back on her elbows, right leg bent while the other lay flat, and watched her children and the people near by. Francis watched her watching the people, his smile seeming to grow with each passing, relaxing moment. "Mon cher, you are such a good mozher~."

She blushed, eyes snapping away from a Swedish man, his Finnish husband and their adopted son, to glare at her husband. Why she ever married this wanker, she would never know. "Sh-Shut up, frog! I wasn't just-just going to let him accidentally drown her!"

"Hmm..." Francis hummed reaching out and cupping her slender cheek in his bigger, rough hand although those hand never touched anything with less than gentleness and utter care, "Alice, mon lapin" -his hand slid down her cheek until only his fingertips remained on her face -"will you please lay down wizh moi" -his fingertips moved to her lips, gently tracing Alice's plump bottom lip and the edge of her thinner top lip -"I get zo lonely wizh out you by mon zide~?" With an indignant huff and embarrassed pout that sent desire tickling down his spine, Alice finally -reluctantly -consented. Blushing all the while, she moved aside her novel and laid down on her side, left arm bent beneath her head as she faced Francis. "W'at eez wrong, lapin?" he asked with a flirty smile as he placed his left hand on the indent of Alice's waist, "I 'ave already zeen you naked, zhere's nozhing you should be embarrassed about."

"Ugh! You perverted git!" she exclaimed furiously slapping his chest, only to have her hand trapped and held, palm flat, over Francis' heart beat. This only made her blush more, "D-Damn you..."

"Hmm...oui, damn me..." Francis said in an amused tone, his hand slipping down her waist to her abdomen, fingertips gently tracing the stretch marks on her flat stomach; self consciously, she flinched back but that only made Francis' pressed his entire hand against her abdomen, rubbing up and down in appreciative motions, "damn me to 'ell for finding mon wife completely irresistible to touch. Damn me for 'aving zuch a beautiful woman in mon presence."

"...yes, damn you..." she muttered surrendering to the hand rubbing her abdomen, pressing into his touch and making him grin wickedly.

"_MOMMY!_"

Both adults flew apart, Francis propping himself up on his elbows while Alice's "mom mode" was activated and she sat up fully, now on full alert. "Alfred, what ever is the matter?" she asked worriedly.

"M-Mommy, Maddie fell and-and she hurt her knee on a-a rock!" Alfred said practically in tears as he brought Madeline to his mother, carrying the petite girl on his back. He eased Madeline onto the sand, her face red and tears dripping off her chin as she held her bleeding knee.

"Mama, it hu-hurts," Madeline sobbed, scrubbing her eyes with a tiny fist.

Alice clucked her tongue. "Oh, darling, I know. Come here, I have band-aids in my bag. Sit by Daddy, now."

Nodding, Madeline wobbled to Francis who scooped her up in his arms. He sat her down in his lap, stroking her hair and letting her cuddle into his chest. "Oh, mon petite, does eet 'urt terribly?" he asked softly rocking her; whimpering, Madeline nodded. "My oh my, zhat eez awful! You are zo brave for dealing wizh zhis pain, cher."

"Ah ha!" Alice exclaimed, triumphantly pulling a Minnie Mouse band-aid from her purse. She also retrieved the disinfectant, dabbing the gel on Madeline's wound and making the little girl yelp and whimper, before placing the band-aid gently over the scrap, "There you go, baby, do you want Mummy to kiss it better?" Shyly, Madeline nodded as her tears slowly stopped trickling down her face. Alice rubbed the sides of the little girl's knee before bending and kissing the band-aid, making the blonde little girl giggle. "All better?"

"Oui, Mama~."

"...I'm sorry, it's all my fault she got hurt..." Alfred said suddenly, his tiny fists clenched, "I...I wasn't paying attention and she tripped..."

"No, no, love, it was an accident," his mother cooed, pulling Alfred onto her lap and pushing his head onto her shoulder, "It's alright, none of us blame you and I'm sure Maddie isn't mad. Right, darling?"

"Yup, I'm not mad Al~!"

"R...Really?"

"Yes, really," Alice said pushing his wet bangs from his forehead and smiling lovingly down at him, Francis' heart skipping a beat as he took in the sight. His wife looked to be truly in her element as she calmed and soothed their children, looking like a pure, loving angel worthy of admiration and worship.

"Alice," Francis said suddenly and seriously, "I am going to kiss you now."

"W-WHAT?!" she exclaimed blushing bright red from her neck to the tips of her ears and the roots of her hair, "B-B-B-But -tha-that's not -that's entirely inappropriate-!" Her words were cut off by Francis crashing his lips to hers, trapping their kids between them.

"_Ewwwwwwwwwwww_!" they both chorused. Francis managed to get a few longing, deep, firm, closed mouth kisses in before the children began squirming and their parents had to free them.

"Pervert," Alice panted face red as she leaned in for more.

He smiled, meeting her half way, "I know."

* * *

**BAM**

**REVIEW**

**I HOPE YOU LIKED IT**

**MAKE SUGGESTIONS**

**IT'S LATE AND I LOVE YOU,**

**~Kitty**


	2. Why He Loves Him (France edition) (yaoi)

**Soooo...this is a rant?**

_**Warning: yaoi, mentions of sexual content, sorry for any grammar mistakes!**_

* * *

_**2# Why He Loves Him (France edition) -FrUk (Nation Verse)**_

_Ears:_

He loved Arthur's cute ears, how small they were and how they were pointed at the top. They resembled the ears of the elves Arthur always liked to go on about. He loved to kiss those ears, suck on the ear lobes and lap at the shells. When he did that, Arthur would make the cutest gasps and squeals, reminding the Frenchman of teenage love.

_Eyes and Eyebrows:_

They were the Brit's best features, or at least two of them. Francis couldn't help but want to drown himself in the dancing emerald and gold hues of the other's eyes; they were always so big and bright, giving away his emotions when Arthur refused to facially show them or say anything out loud. They were like the eyes of a doll, framed by paper thin eyelids and thick eyelashes. His eyebrows, those big, caterpillars on his face, were the most adorable thing Francis had ever seen. He had lied, all those centuries ago. Arthur's eyebrows were beautiful and cute and made his face look perfect. If the Brit plucked them, and they stayed plucked, Francis would through a fit. Francis loved to press kisses to his eyelids and eyebrows, making Arthur flustered and embarrassed. But he _loved_ them. He did.

_Lips:_

If someone thought Arthur's eyes and eyebrows were not the prettiest work of art ever seen, then there was no denying that Arthur's next best feature was his lips. Fragile, pink lips as soft as the underside of a rose with a bottom lip bigger than the top. Francis new how fragile those lips were, how bruise able they were as his teeth nibbled and his tongue tasted, lost in a heated moment of intimacy. He loved how they'd turn raw red and slight dark purple at the end of the night, when they were both tired and content from the physical activities that led to dirtied sheets and chilling, sweaty skin.

_Body:_

Francis loved Arthur's body, although there were some things he didn't necessarily like as well. He didn't like how skinny Arthur's body was, how the Englishman could never gain weight, how his waist was always too small and feminine for a man and how his ribs were always peaking out. He knew this was from undernourishment due to the plagues, sickness and starvation back in the early days of England; events that may or may not have been because of Francis. Because of France. His people. His country. His kings, queens and leaders. Still, Francis kissed every rib and battle scar -paying special attention to the ones he had inflicted -on Arthur's body, teeth clenching around adorable pink nipples. He licked at bony hips, kissed every freckle and "blemish", whatever Arthur considered an imperfection that Arthur despised yet Francis adored. Francis' favorite parts, though, were Arthur's legs -how'd they curl and clench around his torso, drawing him further inside -and his nails -how they left bleeding, uneven gashes down his back -and Arthur's neck -so sensitive and soft, like feeling silk against his rough face.

_Inside:_

Need he say more? Arthur was no virgin, neither was Francis, but Arthur's insides always welcomed greedily and accepted eagerly. There was no awkward, virginal bleeding Francis had to worry about; he only had to worry about stretching Arthur too much, tearing something inside by being too rough, and making sure to hit that _"ohmyfuckinggod"_ spot that made Arthur loose control, arch his back and scream. He made sure Arthur came more than once, feeling more pleasure than he. He made Arthur feel loved, beautiful, happy, as they writhed on top of the bed sheets.

_Heart:_

Francis, above all else, loved Arthur's heart. How capable he was to feel, how strong those emotions were. Arthur loved Alfred -America -and Matthieu -Canada -like sons, even when they left him. Even when Alfred betrayed him. Even when Matthieu showed Francis and Arthur that he was not some simpering maid, earning their respect and his independence. Arthur loved them, they were family, they were his babies, and they would always love the Brit for the sacrifices he made and the love he gave. Alfred would still come crying to him if he was hurt. Matthieu would talk to Arthur every other week over the phone or via email. They both sent Arthur's flowers and chocolates for Valentine's Day and Mother's Day. The four of them -Francis, Arthur, Alfred and Matthieu -would all gather for Christmas, Halloween, Thanksgiving, New Year's, Easter, birthdays and -sometimes -St. Patrick's Day at Arthur's brother's country of Ireland. Or for St. Patrick's Day in one of Alfred's big cities. Francis loved Arthur for all the love Arthur gave him; all the smiles, breakfast attempts, good morning, hello, good bye and good night kisses shared, the cold, rainy nights spent in front of the fire, cuddling together beneath a warm blankets, falling asleep curled together and spooning. Francis offered his heart as a sacrifice, gaining Arthur's in return.

Because that's how they worked. They fought like dogs, maintaining a symbiotic love and peaceful, soothing life. They loved. They lost. They felt anger, betrayal, heartbreak, lust, love, passion, compassion, friendship, hope, happiness, depression, anxiety, fear, peace, desire, want, need. To Francis, Arthur was his everything; Arthur reminded Francis of the moon, beautiful and sometimes untouchable, but always present -even when you can't see it -and soothing. A light in the darkness. Arthur's was Francis' light, the moonbeams in a cold, unforgiving night.

Francis loved Arthur. There was no doubting that.

* * *

**BAM!**

**Sorry for the wait, guys!**

**I need some things from you guys:**

**One -suggestions that you can post in the comment section OR private message me. I need these so I can write more chapters about stuff that YOU GUYS want!**

**Two -REVIEWS REVIEWS REVIEWS! I need your reviews to let me know how I'm doing**

**Three -I NEED YOUR LUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUVVV!**

**Anyway, that third one was weird, but the statement still stands.**

**Review**

**Comment**

**Suggest**

**With love,**

**~kitty**


	3. What Goes Bump In the Night -FACE

**Dun Dun! This is the third one shot and a request from _MangasAndMaple_!**

**Please enjoy and read the warnings!**

_**Warnings: yaoi, implied smut, fluff, chibi 'Murkia and Canadia, America being cute and naïve, Canada being cute and French, I apologizes for any grammar/spelling errors in English and any language mistakes in French**_

* * *

_**3# What Goes Bump in the Night? (FACE Family) (Human AU) (Names like "Angleterre" are used as a sweet nickname, not because they're nations)**_

At dinner, the atmosphere was tense. Papa had come home late, saying he had been stuck cleaning after a sous chef who didn't know what he was doing. Daddy had glared at him, arms crossed over his chest, as he yelled at Papa in a hushed voice; Alfred and Matthew tried to hang over the banister, pressing their chubby faces in between the spaces in the white, wooden bars of the banister. They tried to hear what Daddy was saying but all they heard was angry murmurs, a _slap_ of skin against skin, tearing cloth, more angry whispers, the _thump_ of a body softly hitting the wall then silence.

"What do ya think they're doin', Mattie?"

"I dunno..." the Canadian whispered, "Wanna go see?"

"Yeah!" Alfred cheered quietly, following his twin down the carpeted stairs and sliding across the oak floors and into the entry way. They saw Daddy pushed up against the wall, his leg wrapped possessively around Papa's waist, his hands gripping the back of Papa's long, wavy hair in fistfuls as Papa held up Daddy's leg by the thigh with his right hand on Daddy's butt. They had their lips pressed together, spit on the corners of their mouths and their tongues wiggling in each other's mouths, like worms. "_Ew_!" Alfred couldn't help but exclaim, crinkling his nose in disgust, "That's gross! What are you guys doing?!"

Abruptly, they pulled apart, panting heavily and blushing in embarrassment. The two adults shared a look with each other, talking with out words as they settled a few inches apart and straightened themselves out. "Alfred, sugar plum, how would you like to go help Papa with dinner?" Arthur suggested with a motherly smile as he tried to smooth down his unruly hair. "Mattie, pancake, do you want to help me mend Papa and Alfie's shirts?"

"_YEAH_!"

"_OUI_!"

When dinner was made and they all sat down at the table together, Alfred and Matthew noticed how their Papa and Daddy kept looking at each other. It was a look full of an emotion that Matthew and Alfred didn't under stand, but it intrigued them all the same. Papa gave them a bath, like normal, and Daddy cleaned the dishes and put the clothes that had been in the washing machine in the drier, like normal. Daddy helped put on Alfred's superman pajamas made out of cotton and Papa helped Matthew put on his polar bear jammies made out of flannel; they all crowded in Matthew's bed since Alfred's was a red race car and wouldn't be big enough, and Daddy read them "The Story of the Three Bears" and "Jack and the Bean Stalk". Papa and Daddy sat super close to each other, Papa placing his hand high up on Daddy's leg and making his face turn bright red; Alfred cuddled against his Daddy and Matthew cuddled against his Papa until both of them got bleary eyed and their heads began to bob up and down. Papa tucked Matthew in, humming a French lullaby under his breath as he soothed the boy's long hair back and kissed his forehead and doll like eyelashes, lashes that Matthew surely inherited from whoever his mother was; Daddy carried Alfred over to his race car bed, huffing under the boy's weight, he whispered "good night"s and "I love you"s as he kissed Alfred's chubby cheeks and nose, a nose long and thin, slightly crooked, a nose surely inherited from whoever his father was. They walked to the door, turning off the light but waiting until they saw the night light, shaped like a moon, come on; as they closed the door, Papa wrapped his arms around Daddy's waist, sliding his big, slim fingered hands down Daddy's green sweater clad abdomen as Daddy closed the bedroom door.

The twins laid in the dimly lite darkness of their bedroom, Alfred breathing quietly through his mouth as he rolled over onto his stomach and Matthew making a quiet, mumbling noise of contentment as he shifted and rolled over on his side, his back facing Alfred. A car flew passed, crunching gravel and casting an orange-yellow glow into their room, illuminating their pale yellow painted walls and the blue silhouettes of birds flying on the walls. Their bookcase, toys and toy box sent low, stretching shadows along the walls and tan, carpeted floors. All of a sudden, everything was still and quiet, even the cicadas stopped making their clicking and buzzing noises, leaving the twins' breathing as the only noise in what seemed like the entire house.

That was until they heard a _thump_ come from the room next to theirs. Daddy and Papa's bedroom. The _thump_ against the wall was followed by a quiet moan and a gasp of: _"Francis!"_ The two boys ignored it at first, thinking that their parents were fighting over something stupid again, a normal happening; they only opened their eyes when they heard another _thump_ and a loud groan that sounded like: _"A-Again...!"_ -it faded into something so quiet, the twins couldn't hear, then _-"Please!"_

"Mattie...what do you think they're doing?" Alfred whispered, "Are they hurting each other?"

"I don't think so..." the other murmured, rolling over on his side so he could face his brother, their blue eyes meeting, "Papa wouldn't hurt Daddy-."

Matthew was cut off by the sound of their parent's bed squeaking violently, Francis releasing a sharp gasp of: "Angleterre!"

Alfred and Matthew looked at each other, fear coating the back of their throats, making their eyes sting with tears as their stomach cramped and dropped to their ankles. "We have to" -constant thumps were coming from their parents' room -"w-we have to make sure they aren't gettin' hurt, Mattie! What if a bad guy's in there?!"

"I dunno, Al, maybe we should call the p-police-."

"No, we can't do that!" Alfred shouted tossing aside his blankets and standing up on the floor, fists on his hips and chin tilted up in a "hero" pose, "It'll be too late by the time they get here! We need to be like Batman and Robin. I'll be Batman and you'll be Robin!"

"Why do I gotta always be the sidekick..." the long hair twin whined, pouting as he stood up and grabbed his glasses. "O-Ok...so...what do we do, Al?"

"We need weapons," he said with a sage like nod, going over to their toy box and grabbing two foam swords and two foam shields, "Here. This'll protect ya, Mattie, but you don't gotta worry, though, 'cause I gonna protect you, kay?"

"Kay..." Matthew said, skeptically eyeing the swords but following his brother's plan anyway. They walked over to their parents' room, wiggling the door knob but finding that the door wouldn't open.

"Why won't it open?!"

"You're turning it the wrong way."

Alfred turned the door knob to the left, blushing when the door opened easily. "Oh." They raised their swords, running in with their swords up, Francis rolling off of Arthur just in time and pulling the blanket up to cover himself and his husband.

"M-Mon petits!" the Frenchman stuttered out, blushing and breaking out in a nervous sweat. "W-W'at are you doing?"

Matthew, more observant than his oblivious brother, gazed intensely at his parents. Both were shirtless, bright red and panting, Daddy's neck and chest wet with bruises popping up beneath the spit and Papa's hair was messy, looking like it had been pulled a lot, and Matthew could see scratches on his chest, arms and a little bit on his shoulder blades and back. It took him only a moment before his face bloomed red and he laughed a little, French, "ohonhon~" knowingly. "Desole, Papa et Daddy," Matthew squeaked cheerily, "Alfie thought that you were getting attacked!"

"Why would you think that, baby?" Arthur asked, ever the concerned Daddy as he wrapped the blanket around himself to cover his hard nipples, bare chest and his lower half.

"We heard banging" -the innuendo was not intended but it didn't go unnoticed by Francis and Arthur who shared a look -"and groaning and thought you guys were gettin' beat up by the bad guys!"

"Pft, don't be ridiculous," Arthur said rolling his eyes with a gentle smile, "but, if it makes you feel better, why don't you sleep with us tonight?"

"Really?!" the American exclaimed with a beaming smile, as Francis looked at the Brit with an incredulous expression, "_Yay_!"

"Oui, _goodie_," Francis said sarcastically, "Mon chers, w'y don't you come up 'ere w'ile your Daddy et I take a grown up zhower?"

"Ok!" Alfred exclaimed, not noticing his Daddy's embarrassed and excited expression as they shuffled out the door. But he did notice they were only wearing their pants, which was sort of weird. "Hmmmm, I wonder why Papa and Daddy didn't have their shirts..." he mused as he crawled into the center of his parents' bed.

"...Alfred, they were making babies."

"What?!" he yelped, alarmed, watching his brother with wide eyes as Matthew climbed up into the center of the bed, laying next to him. "No they weren't!"

"_Oui_, they were. I read about it in one of Papa's books before."

"How?! We're only seven and he doesn't allow us to read grown up books!"

"I'm a lot better reader than you, Al."

"_No_!"

"_Oui_!"

In the end, they bickered themselves to exhaustion, and ended up falling asleep huddled up together. When Francis and Arthur returned after they were done "showering", their eyes fell upon their sons and a warm feeling spread from their hearts and out towards their limbs, making them smile.

"Zhey are adorable."

"Hmmm, yes, they are."

They pulled on boxers and frumpy t-shirts that they owned since college, slipping in beside their boys. Arthur laid on his side beside Alfred while Francis laid on his side beside Matthew; the Brit reached over, entwining their fingers so that both children were nestled between the arms and bodies of their parents. "I love you, Francis."

"Je t'aime aussi, mon lapin," he purred, sitting up on his elbow and leaning over the sleeping bodies of Matthew and Alfred in order to kiss his husband. Arthur kissed back, leaning on his elbow and arching his neck in an attempt to get closer, pressing his collar bone against his husband's as Francis lips pulled, sucked and played with his.

"Daddy? Papa?" came a groggy squeak, which instantly made Francis and Arthur jump apart."

"Yes, Alfie?"

"Mattie said you guys...you guys were making babies," Alfred said, half asleep.

"Don't be silly," Francis hummed, leaning forward and giving Alfred a kiss on the bridge of his nose, "Boys can't 'ave babies."

"Mmmm...that's what I thought..." he mumbled, "G'nigh..."

"Good night, baby," Arthur chuckled kissing his son's temple. Once he was sure Alfred was asleep, he glared up at Francis, "You need to keep Matthew away from your books!"

"Eet eez not mon fault if 'e is curious!" the Frenchman quietly defended himself, " 'e eez almost at zhat age-."

"No!" Arthur snapped, his entire being filling with fear and dread at the thought of his babies growing up. _No, they can't! They're **my** babies!_ "He's not!"

Francis was silent, seeing the fear and heartbreak written clearly in his husband's eyes. "Non...of course not..." The Brit ducked his head and looked away, not ready to face the truth of Francis' statement, but he was quickly followed by Francis' lips that pressed against his face -his forehead, his eyelids, down to the tip of his nose, his cheeks, his chin, his jaw his ears and, finally, his lips -and whispered sweet nothings and reassurances.

"Francis-."

"Papa..." they heard Matthew whimper tearily, "Daddy..."

"Oh, non, mon petit, you are ok, eet eez just a nightmare," Francis said, moving quickly to calm and soothe the trembling and whimpering form of his son, "Shhh, shhhh, mon baby, you are safe. You're Daddy et Papa are 'ere."

Matthew peeled his eyes open a crack, allowing tears to spill down his chubby cheeks, which were quickly reddening in embarrassment and from being so upset. "I'm sorry..."

"No, love, don't be sorry," Arthur said quickly, brushing the tip of his nose over Matthew's nose and cheeks, "You had a bad dream that was very scary, you're allowed to cry."

"W'at 'appened, Matthieu?"

"I-I...I was at school and we were coloring. I finished before anyone else and I went up to show my teacher -because I colored in the lines and everything! -and it was even a polar bear! But she couldn't see me and kept on talking to another kid. I kept on pulling on her clothes, so she'd see me, but she just pushed me away into this dark hole. I fell until I was in the living room, with Al who was playing his video games again, but when I tried to ask him what was going on, he just ignored me. I went into the kitchen where Papa was making dinner and Daddy was looking at the newspaper and drinking tea. You guys were talking about how you liked having only one baby and, when I tried to tell you you had two, you guys just ignored me! You said you...you said you were glad you didn't adopt the other one!" Matthew exclaimed beginning to sob brokenly into his tiny fists, his voice breaking and weakening on the last sentence.

Francis paled. "Oh, mon cher-."

"That's not true, right?!" Matthew interrupted, looking back and forth between Francis and Arthur in a desperate manner, "Y-You don't regret getting me-?!"

"No!" Arthur exclaimed almost violently, "Of course we don't! We love you, baby! Just as much as we love Alfred; we love both of you so, so much, we can't even tell you how much you make us happy because there are no words in any language that could describe how beautiful this happiness is."

"R-Really...?"

"Yes," Arthur said simply, stroking Matthew's cheek with the palm of his hand, "Never forget that."

"Je t'aime, cheri, je t'aime, je t'aime," Francis mumbled, pulling Matthew's back closer to his chest, hugging him and gently beginning to rock back and forth. He was filled with insecurities that he wouldn't let Matthew see; insecurities and doubts about his parenting, about how much love he showed Matthew. Maybe he didn't show the boy enough, maybe he had unknowingly started to pay more attention to Alfred, maybe he was working too much, maybe he was a bad father, maybe Matthew would be better off without him, with just Arthur as a parent, maybe-. A cool hand on his cheek stopped his panic attack, it was soothing and, along with the soft smile Arthur gave him, it was like a balm to his frazzled nerves.

"Stop thinking," he commanded in a soft tone, tucking a strand of Francis' hair behind his ear, "You're a good father. See? You even got Matthew to go back to sleep after such a horrible nightmare."

Francis looked down, seeing Matthew cuddled into him and sleeping. "But...zhat dream-."

"It was not a reflection of how we treat him, Francis," Arthur said his voice firm but understanding, "It's obvious he is still trying to understand that he is adopted. We don't love him any less than if he was our own, but that can be a frightening and confusing concept for a child to understand."

"...Do you zhink we did ze right zhing by telling 'im?"

"Yes. If we didn't, he'd only be confused and angry once he was older. This gives him time to compute it."

"...Alright..." Francis said doubtfully but the Brit did nothing to fix or sooth that tone. There was nothing Arthur could do about it, Francis just needed time and it was only something Francis could understand on his own. Still, Arthur moved closer, moving Alfred so he subconsciously wrapped Matthew's body in a bear hug in order to curl up as much as possible and get the most cuddles; Arthur placed his hand on Francis' back, pushing the Frenchman forward, before leaning their faces as close together as was possible and loosely clenching his finger's in Francis' damp -from the shower- and wavy hair.

"Good night, my dear."

Francis allowed himself to relax beneath Arthur's hand, his own arm laying on top of the sleeping forms of his children in order to curl possessively around Arthur's waist. He closed his eyes with a light smile. "Bonne nuit, mes amours," he said, addressing not only his husband but his children as well. It wasn't long before the two adults fell asleep, lulled to that peaceful oblivion by the comforting inhale and exhale of their sons' breathing.

* * *

**ALRIGHT! I DID IT!**

**I don't know if this is up to your standards, _MangasAndMaple, _but I really, really hope you liked it~~!**

**So, now that I've proven that I _do_ do requests, I would like a lot more or I'll have no idea what you'd guys would like to see! And I _do_ do anything that you request of me**

**REVIEW PLEASE**

**I love you guys so much! Huggs and tickles!**

**~Kitty**


	4. Closer -Omegaverse

**Hi, um, anyway this is smut so yeah. Written for: _fierysuzaku_! Sorry that this took a while to get up~!**

_**Warnings: yaoi, smut, ABO dynamics, nicknames like "Angleterre" used as cute nicknames -not because they're nations in this AU, rated MA (obviously)**_

* * *

**Inspired by the song "Closer" by Nine Inch Nails and multiple other songs**

* * *

_**4# Closer -Part 1 (FrUk) (Omegaverse) (Alpha France and Omega England) **_

Arthur stuffed all the homework, lesson plans and class notes for the next week in his backpack. He needed to get home. The Brit felt the cramps and pressure build in his stomach, his skin itching as he felt so hot, he might start sweating soon, the sweat carrying pheromones and scents that practically screamed: **"FERTILE! MUST BREED! IN HEAT!"** It would neutralize his Pre-Heat Scent Suppressants, sending his scent violently crashing into any Alphas near him.

"Bonjour, Angleterre~!"

_Oh my god, not now!_ Arthur tried not to let his panic show as the Alpha, that had haunted his Heat Hallucinations for the past three years, approached him. "Not now, Francis..." he mumbled, his voice and hands trembling as he prayed that Francis wouldn't notice how..._off_ he was.

"W'at eez wrong, mon cher?" the Alpha asked, immediately noticing Arthur's quivering vocals and shaking shoulders, fear now dulling Arthur's beautiful scent. It was painfully obvious that Francis had a thing for the Brit, there was a connection there that formed ever since they had smelled each other's natural scent when Arthur was a Freshman and Francis a Sophomore all those years ago, Arthur was just too stubborn to accept the mutual attraction that they both felt. Francis had spent three years courting and wooing the Omega, building an odd love-hate friendship with him, that Francis longed to develop into something more.

Arthur could feel Francis behind him, his body heat, his intoxicating scent, and shivered in desire. _In want_. He remembered all those hormone induced hallucinations, every single one flashing behind his closed eyelids; he swallowed thickly, struggling to control his body -and heart -and his scents that wanted to escape. "_Fine_. I'm fine." Was he trying to convince himself or Francis?

The Frenchman scrunched his eyebrows in confusion. The sentence had left a bitter taste in his mouth, as if he lied instead of Arthur that had lied. "Don't lie to moi," Franics commanded simply, "Je t'aime, Arthur, can't you zee zhat I care? I know zomezhing eezn't right, all I want to do eez take care of you."

"I don't need you!" Arthur screamed, slapping away Francis' out stretched hand, "L-Leave me alone! Please!" Every Omega instinct the Brit had, winced, shouting at Arthur that he had no right to insult an Alpha so deeply -to an Alpha, hearing they were not needed was like a knife in the chest -that he had no right to talk to his Alpha -_no_...Francis wasn't his. He didn't need to see the Frenchman's face to know what he was feeling -shock, hurt, disappointment, all of it was in the Alpha's scent. It was all too much for the Omega as he hugged his bag to his chest, hormones making him want to cry, and ran out of the building. Arthur tossed in bookbag in the back of his car and locked the doors as he got behind the wheel.

He'd ask himself, later, how he safely got home with the tears pouring down his cheeks. When his tears finally turned into wet hiccups, Arthur realized he was sitting in his drive way, body burning and his scent so strong even he could smell it. He hurriedly wiped off his cheeks with the sleeve of his jacket, stumbling out of his car and doing a running/limping/stumble combination to his front door and, somehow, he got his keys in the front door and, literally, fell into the entry way.

"Artur?" He heard the voice of his brother's Omega husband, an Irish man with curly black hair, freckles and shockingly bright, blue-grey eyes, and the soft pad of bare feet shuffling against the beige carpet. "Artur -_oh, Jesus, Mary, Joseph_! Alli! _Aliaster_! Get in 'ere!" The Irish man pulled Arthur's feet into the house before closing and locking the door before any unattached Alpha could smell the Heat scent that was quickly increasing around Arthur and in the room.

"Seamus, wut is-?"

"Get in 'ere, yah stupid bastard!" the Omega shouted, taking off Arthur's shoes as the Brit began to curl up in a tight ball, pain in his abdomen -like a sharp stabbing -paralyzing him, "It's Artur, 'e's in Heat!"

"_Jesus_!" Aliaster exclaimed, now running into the room, he made a choking noise as he got a face full of the overwhelming smell of Heat, "Did ye get it at school?!" A nod.

"I told yah 'e would get it!" Seamus snapped at him.

"I know, I know, no need to bitch at me like yer the one in Heat!" the Scot barked, green eyes flashing with his hot temper. Once he realized that he had yelled at his very heavily pregnant Omega, Aliaster quickly ducked his head in regret, running a hand through his hair as he mumbled a "Sorry, darling" before moving to his little brother; he lifted Arthur up like a princess, the area from the back of Arthur's jeans down to his knees already damp with the mating Slick -an Omega's natural lubricant -that was produced during Heat. The Scot quickly carried his little brother to his room, knowing his mate was following by the panting breaths and huffs of annoyance that the Omega was emitting. Usually, Seamus would handle Arthur's Heats on his own -after all, it was the eldest Omega in the family's duty to help all the younger Omegas, from their first Heat until they left for college, deal with their Heats and all the challenges that would imply -but, this time, Seamus wasn't able to lift Arthur. Seamus was strong, arms and thighs containing tightly compacted muscle, but for obvious reasons -the eight month old fetus in his belly being the main one -he wasn't able to carry Arthur up the steps or...anywhere, really. Aliaster pushed Arthur's door open with his foot, going to Arthur's bed, with a duvet that had the pattern of the Union Jack on it, and laying the Brit down on it.

"I got it from 'ere, Alli," Seamus said patting his Alpha on the shoulder, leaning up and giving him a kiss on his cheek, "Bring Artur's stuff inside, will yah, luv? And make sure no Alphas are tryin'-a get in?"

"Will do, darlin'," he said wrapping his arm around the Irish man's waist, squeezing it and planting a kiss firmly on his Omega's lips, "I'll be down stairs if ye need help."

Once Aliaster left, Seamus locked Arthur's bedroom door before moving to Arthur's closet to get the box of "toys" that he would need to get through his Heat in the least painful way possible. "...I wish I had what you two had..." Seamus looked back at Arthur, who had spoken using his croaky voice. The Brit was sitting up at the side of his bed.

"Shush, luv-."

"I'm so lonely," Arthur whimpered removing the clothing from his torso, revealing his scrawny upper half, milky white skin with the hint of his ribcage peaking through, "And the only Alpha I've ever liked...I pushed him away, Seamus! I said such an awful thing...I-I pushed him away and-and said I didn't need him! He probably h-hates me!" He bowed his head, hiding his face in his hands and started to sob uncontrollably, his shoulders shaking and chest heaving.

With an understanding sigh, Seamus placed the box at the end of Arthur's bed before sitting next to the teen and rubbing his back, feeling the shoulder blades and vertebrae shift beneath his fingers. "Shush, my wee little boy," the Irish man soothed, knowing that Arthur was letting his hormones get the best of him, "He doesn't hate you."

"Y-Yes he-!"

"If he is wort your time, and your affection, he won't hate you," Seamus said firmly, wiping the tears off the teen's cheeks with the pads of his thumbs, "You cannot begin to imagine the awful things I said to your brother when I went into my Heats when we were dating." Arthur looked up at him, his face so shocked that it made the dark haired Omega laugh. "I believe I once told him that I rather cut off his dick then have him touch me...later that day I told him if he didn't come over and fuck me immediately I'd cut off his dick and shove it down his throat." This made Arthur laugh a little bit, appreciating the effort his brother-in-law made to make him feel better, even if it didn't exactly work, appreciating even more the kiss Seamus placed on the side of his head. "If you need anytin' I'll be down stairs wit Alli, don't be afraid tah holler fer me if yah need anytin'."

Arthur nodded, feeling the first waves of his Heat approach like a thunderstorm, and knowing that, as soon as Seamus closed the door, the Brit would strip himself of his pants and dig in the "toy box" for something that would sate his need.

._._._.

The next day, Francis was lying on his bed, wearing blue skinny jeans and a pale blue, button down shirt, and still thinking about what Arthur had said to him the day previous. The words he had spoken, obviously meant to hurt, were like a knife in his chest -Arthur, his love, the Omega that had him wrapped around his finger, said that Francis was useless, not needed,_ a bad Alpha_ -and the look of fear, desperation, sorrow and longing in Arthur's beautiful green eyes, bright and shiny with tears, had just twisted that knife deeper. He wanted to be there for Arthur, hold and kiss him, sooth his aches and woes, making him happy, whole, loved. He didn't hate Arthur for what he said, no matter what abuse was thrown the Frenchman's way, Francis would never hate Arthur; but, he -his Alpha instinct, the inner animal with no concept of what was and what was not proper that all Alphas had -did want was to punish Arthur, to pull the Brit into the nearest restroom, lean him over the sink, spank him until his ass was raw, fuck him until his ass was sore, bite him until his body was littered in red bite marks that would bruise to form hickies. Francis felt his pants get tight at the thought of what he would do to Arthur if the Omega was _his_, and he began to rub his member through his jeans; he imagined Arthur, his cute, little, British Omega, on Francis' bed, between his legs, that naughty, challenging smirk on his lips that had become his signature smirk when he was around Francis, as he gripped and messaged Francis' cock through the denim. Francis was about to throw his head back and moan out Arthur's name, when his phone rang. He huffed in annoyance, removing his hand from his crotch to pick up his cell phone. "'ello? Bonjour?"

"_F-Francis_~."

The Frenchman sat up abruptly, staring at the indigo duvet of his bed, what he was laying on top of. "Ar...Arzhur? Angleterre, are you alright?"

"Francis! Oh..._Oh my god, I need you_! I-I'm so lonely and...Francis, pl-please come over!" Arthur said, sounding as if he was crying.

"_O-Oui!_ Yes, of course!" Francis said quickly getting to his feet and pulling on his black, converse sneakers. As soon as Arthur said "I need you" and "please", Francis was hooked. There was no way Francis, or any Alpha for that matter, could deny an Omega that had admitted to their vulnerability, that had said a sentence -a plea, really -so sweetly.

"Come through the window..._Please_, I need you so bad!"

"Shhhh, mon cher, I will be zhere zoon. I promise. 'old on tight for me, oui?"

"Oui, oui! _Yes_!"

~oOo~

Francis knew where Arthur's house was. Obviously. Arthur and Francis were friends, even though their friendship was a weird one, and Francis knew Arthur's elder brother, Aliaster, from their Alpha elementary school, and Seamus from when the Irishman was still working in the bookstore Francis' mother owned. He had actually been the one to introduce the pair. Francis also knew where Arthur's room was. It was located on the right side of the house, the last of two windows with a bathroom between Arthur's room and the new nursery for Aliaster and Seamus' baby -which was located on the left side of the house. A sturdy tree -probably oak or whatever, who really gives a shit? -was positioned at the side of the house, a thick branch extending to just beneath Arthur's bedroom window.

He pulled up in his silver car, parking it down the street for some odd reason. The Frenchman walked down the street, his hands stuffed in his pockets as he sucked at a cigarette, appearing to be calm but, in reality, his heart was beating like a rabbit's, his veins flooding with adrenaline and anticipation. Arthur's house was white with drive way and rose beds; as Francis walked past a blue house with a white picket fence, he was stopped by a boy he knew well. This boy had short blonde hair, blue eyes, glasses and was tall for his age with a skinny, scrawny body; he was about thirteen years old, still in eighth grade, and was always out in his front yard, throwing a baseball or sitting on the front stoop whenever Francis went over to Arthur's house. This boy was an Alpha, still awkward and going through puberty, named Alfred and he was currently standing in his backyard, staring up in the general direction of Arthur's bedroom.

"Bonjour, Alfred," Francis said in an attempt to relax, to tell himself that nothing was wrong...everything was normal, " 'ow are you? Et w'ere eez Matthieu?"

"Mattie's upstairs...talking to some weird kid in our class," Alfred said, referring to his weird Omega twin and his weird Omega twin's friends. He didn't look away from Arthur's house. "...I'm fine..."

"You don't zound fine, cher," the older Alpha said with a worried crease in his brow; Alfred was acting odd and it was really starting to creep him out, all Alfred was doing was staring at Arthur's bedroom window, like a little creep. Francis knew the boy had a crush on Arthur and it irked him to no end; who did this boy think he was, lusting for an upperclassman the way he was? "Are you zure you are alright?"

"...Something's wrong with Iggy," he said, finally turning away from the Brit's house and, damn it, Francis cringed because he knew Arthur hated the nickname "Iggy", "I could smell it on him when he came home...he smelled really, really weird and it's only gotten worser. His curtains keep movin' too."

Francis' worry increased tenfold, turning his attention to Arthur's bedroom window. "I'll tell you w'at," he said suddenly, leaning over the fence to whisper in Alfred's ear, "I'll go check on 'im, oui? W'en I find out w'at eez wrong, I'll come out et tell you? Good?"

"..._Fine_," Alfred huffed, sneering at the Frenchman and back away from him, distaste for the man clear in his every action, "But if you hurt him-."

"W'at would you do? You are only a child!" the Alpha scoffed, flipping a strand of hair out of his eyes, but he looked at Alfred seriously anyway, making sure the words went through the boy's thick skull, "But I would never 'urt Arzhur. You don't understand our relationship, maybe one day you will but not now, zo don't make assumptions. I care for 'im, 'e eez mon Omega."

"_No he's not_!" Alfred snapped, "You don't have your scent on him yet! He's not _yours_, Francis!" The American ran away, throwing his front door open with a bang and running to the shelter of his home, his Beta mother, because he was still only a child, after all.

Francis huffed in annoyance, flicking his cigarette into the street before walking past Alfred's house to Arthur's, which was right next to it; he walked across the lawn to the tree beneath Arthur's window, he pulled himself up the tree, using naturally formed foot holds and hand holds and sliding himself across the branch closest to Arthur's window, sitting on it before knocking on the glass. "Angleterre," he said, loud enough for Arthur to hear if he was in his room but not loud enough for Aliaster or Seamus to over hear, "eet eez moi. Francis. Would you still like to talk to moi?"

The white curtains parted with a sharp, violent swish, revealing a panting, cherry faced Arthur with his hair mused and electric green eyes filled with lust. His shirt was off, revealing his skinny chest and small waist, a sight that made Francis' eyes widen, his member stirring with desire, mouth salivating and his entire body heating up. Arthur opened the window with an urgency that Francis had never seen him exhibit before, and, when he did, Francis couldn't help how he flinched away, lips parting automatically to take in more of that delicious, tempting scent. Arthur smelled of tea leaves, thyme, old books, sugary frosted vanilla scones, white chocolate, lilacs and heather. It was odd, strong, and Francis _liked_ _it _ever since the first time he had smelled it. He wanted to bathe himself in that smell, drown himself in it. But, this time, the scent was stronger, tinted with something spicy and desire inducing; it had the hot aroma of lust, smelling like cinnamon.

That scent stirred up dominant, aggressive, instincts that Francis had worked long and hard to control, a control which almost slipped at the scent and sight of Arthur. The other male was just too good and Francis fought against the want -_need, need, need, need, it is a need, a need!_ -to push Arthur high on the wall, fingernails digging into the tender, small globes of Arthur's ass, and mark the other as his; Francis didn't want to be that type of person -even though everything inside of him was demanding that he pick Arthur up in his arms, to protect him against whatever creeps were waiting in the shadows -like Alfred, sink his teeth into Arthur's neck over and over and over until he had to move down to his chest and shoulders, leaving bruises and bite marks, to leave his scent embedded into Arthur's pores so that he was not only physically marked as Francis', but scent marked as the Frenchman's as well. Something dark, dominant and passionate flashed in his eyes -eyes that were usually calm, amused and flirtatious -but were now screaming to ravish the Brit in front of him. "Ar...Arzhur..."

"F-Francis, please," Arthur begged, reaching out the window to grip Francis' shirt, "I...I need you...so bad...it _hurts_~!"

"You're in 'Eat-."

"_I know!_ Oh, _God_, I know and it hurts _so bad!_ All I've wanted was for you to fuck me! _Make me yours_, make me your Omega, your mate; give me a baby, Francis-!"

The Frenchman didn't let Arthur continue. _He couldn't_. All self control he had minutes before was gone. All he could think about was fucking Arthur until the Omega's mattress broke. "Mon lapin~" Francis growled, blue eyes having darkened with the primal sort of lust only Alphas seemed capable of, a "I'll eat you alive; all of you" sort of hunger; he climbed in through the window, landing heavily on the carpeted floor of Arthur's bedroom and grinning at the fear and desire and curiosity that was seasoning the Omega's scent, "I'll breed you zo 'ard you will not be able to walk. You will be wizh child by ze time I am done wizh you tonight."

Arthur pressed himself against the blue wallpaper, tilting his head back and moaning, skin was already dusted a light pink, his member hard between his legs and slick making his inner thighs glow. "Francis...can I touch you? Please?"

"Oui, mon cher."

That was all the permission Arthur needed, the Omega pushing himself off the wall and into Francis' strong arms; his fists gripped Francis' shirt, ripping it so that some of the buttons flew off and onto the floor, as he stretched his back and connected their lips. At the contact it was like a fire had been lit, Francis' hands -which had been on the Omega's back -sliding down to grip the indent of Arthur's waist and pulling their bodies flush so that he could claim dominance over Arthur's mouth. Of course the Omega fought back with his tongue, as was his and Francis' way, but his attempts looked weak in comparison to the passionate, rough strokes of the Alpha's tongue. They felt their bodies heat, Arthur desperately rubbing his body against his Alpha's and making Francis growl. "Now, Francis," Arthur begged against the Frenchman's lips, trailing his kisses down Francis' jaw and neck, "Please, the vibrator stopped doing anything-."

"A toy?" he questioned, both shocked and -strangely -jealous, "Do you 'ave eet in you now? Eez eet on?" Arthur nodded, making the Alpha see red. Only he was allowed to give Arthur pleasure! With a snarl, Francis easily picked the Englishman up and tossed the poor thing onto his bed, quickly getting on top of him; he parted the Omega's legs by sliding his knee between them, feeling the other teen's slick drench the fabric of his jeans as he ground his knee against Arthur's lower half, and pinned Arthur's hands and arms above his head by the wrists. "Only I am allowed to give you pleasure," Francis stated possessively, a look in his eyes that made the smaller male harder, his body screaming in need as he moaned; the Frenchman began to kiss down Arthur's neck, sucking bright bruises into the flesh, down to his chest and letting his facial hair rub roughly against the Omega's fragile skin, "You will not do zhis again. Comprenez-vous?"

Francis drew a nipple into his mouth, making the other teen gasp, eyes stinging with tears as he writhed in pleasure. "_Yes!_ Yes, I understand!" he exclaimed, his slick thighs clenching around Francis' hips, holding the man in place, "I won't -I won't -_ngh!_" The Brit could even finish his sentence as he threw his head back, feeling Francis' fingers tease his entrance before pushing in with a wet squish; under different circumstances, Arthur would've been embarrassed by the sound, but he was too far gone, too close to getting what his heart and body had been craving for _years,_ to honestly care. He gasped and moaned, his body arching upward and his limbs straining under Francis grip, desperate to touch his Alpha as the fingers inside him grasped the still vibrating toy, pulling it out. With strained, panting breaths, Arthur watched as Francis threw the toy across the room, possibly breaking it, before glaring at the Omega harshly.

"You 'ave been a very naughty boy lately, Arzhur," he growled, removing his open shirt so that his Omega could gawk at the defined torso and coarse, blonde chest and arm hair, "Why should I reward you? Why should I breed you? Why should I give you mon dick to ride on w'en you 'ave done nozhing to earn eet?"

He swallowed audibly, mentally slapping himself. Of course Francis was still angry; he had told his Alpha -his mate, eventually -that he was useless, unnecessary, unwanted, unneeded. Such an insult was unforgivable, but... "I'm sorry, Francis..." Arthur whimpered, turning his face to nuzzle into the Frenchman's wrist, running his nose from Francis' wrist, up his inner arm, to his elbow, "I-I was just...moody because of my Heat and you were teasing me! I didn't want to fucking jump you in the hallway! I'm sorry, Francis, forgive me. Please..."

Francis' face softened and he leaned down, discretely undoing the zipper and button of his jeans. "Mon amour...a good Alpha always forgives 'is mate," before Arthur could even comprehend the weight of the words that the Frenchman had spoken, the Omega was being slowly -carefully -impaled by Francis' cock. His back arched and he gasped, his walls stretching and accommodating the length so perfectly that there could be no doubt to Arthur's willingness in the mating -if he had had any reservations, his body wouldn't have been accommodating to Francis' member, refusing him entry with a build up of slick; the Frenchman groaned, his body bowing over Arthur's as he pushed in, trying to be careful and considerate but finding it so hard to maintain that demeanor. The insides of Arthur were so fucking hot and welcoming, pulsating around him -practically quivering, that he didn't know how long he'd last. How long his control would last.

"Fran...Francis..." the Brit sobbed, the tears that had been making his vision waver, spilling over and down his cheeks, "let me hold you. _Please_!" Realizing that he had maintained what was, surely, a vise-like, painful, grip on Arthur's wrists, the Alpha let go, seeing the red marks on the milky white skin and immediately know, without a doubt, there would be finger shaped bruises later; disturbingly, Francis didn't know rather he should be horrified or pleased. Arthur, however, didn't let his Alpha dwell on it for long since his venus fly trap legs clenched around Francis' hips, his left hand holding the back of Francis' head and his fingers tangling in those perfect, soft, wavy, golden locks, and his right arm wrapping around Francis' torso, his nails digging into the Alpha's shoulder blades. Not that the Frenchman was complaining. "Love, please, no more fore play. I want you to fuck me and I want to bare you a child. I want to bare you all the children you desire and be yours forever."

"Mon beautiful petit Omega...'ow good you are," Francis said, his left hand cupping his Omega's cheek as his right arm slid beneath Arthur's body to brace against the curve of the Omega's spine. "You will be so good to our children. Our beautiful babies zhat I can't wait to put inside you."

"Then do it. _Frog_."

Francis recognized the challenge almost immediately, his eyes glinting in the after noon sunlight. Instead of responding, Francis grabbed Arthur's chin, pulling the smaller teen into a passionate kiss, which Arthur quickly got lost in, before pulling his hips back -feeling his member slid inside of his mate -and thrusting back in as hard as he could. The Brit squealed into the kiss, his hands spasming against Francis' skin and hair, and Francis continued to thrust harder and harder, pounding Arthur into the mattress and making the headboard bang against the wall. Arthur grasped at the sheets, tearing them, and Francis' back, clawing it, and Francis' arms, shoulders and chest, clawing them raw as well. He was gasping and making noises of pleasure that resembled muffled screams, pink lips parted and tears of joy and pleasure leaking from his eye sockets. "A-Angleterre...my Angleterre..."

"Francis, Francis, Francis!"

"Are you close, mon lapin?" Francis asked, massaging the back of the Brit's thigh as he struck the Omega's prostate dead on, making Arthur loose his breath and see stars for a moment.

"_S-So~ close_~!" he moaned, planting a foot on the bed to try and get Francis to hit deeper and hit harder, his hips meeting Francis' thrusts, "Yes, _yes_, baby, there, _oh~_ God! _God_!"

"I am going to not you zo 'ard, we won't be able to part for 'ours," the Frenchman whispered in Arthur's ear, biting the lobe possessively, "Et, at school, I will not let you out of my zight. You are going to zit on mon lap at lunch, et you will not dare look at any ozher Alpha w'en I'm around. Not even your...'friends'."

"_Yes~._ Yes, Francis, I'll do whatever you say; just..._Oh my God, Francis_!" Arthur's sentence ended in a loud scream as the Alpha began to work his member, pumping it along to his thrusts, at the same time he struck Arthur's sweet spot. He came all over Francis' hand and his abdomen, his muscles and inner walls pulsating before tightening around Francis' member, sucking him deeper into his body as Francis came inside him, pulling both the Frenchman's seed and member as deep as it could go as Francis' cock swelled with the knot. Locked together, the two sweaty teens collapsed on the bed, breathing heavily and not seeing anything, the pleasure of cumming so overwhelming that it had made them practically blind. Francis was the first to recover, pushing his sweaty hair off his forehead and rolling he and his Omega onto their sides, managing to pull the blanket from underneath them and place it over them; he gave most of the blankets to Arthur, who pulled the blankets around him greedily, snuggling his face into Francis' collar bone. "Mmm~ thank you, Francis..." he mumbled sleepily, kissing Francis' chin, "I love you."

"Je t'aime aussi, mon amour," Francis chuckled, enjoying the delirious happiness displayed by his mate, he caressed his mate's cheek and hair, whispering endearments and sweet nothings in the Brit's ear as he drifted off to sleep.

* * *

Nine months later, and after a solid beating from Aliaster and twice as violent, moody Seamus, Francis sat in a beige chair beside Arthur's hospital bed. Of course it was Francis who had received the beatings, having mated Arthur without his guardians' permission; but, that wasn't the reason why Francis and Arthur were in the hospital.

"Artur? Francis? May we come in?"

"Oui, go a'ead," Francis said looking up from the angelic image that had been presented to him. Aliaster and Seamus walked in, their little boy sucking his thumb and making gurgling, baby talk that really didn't sound like an actual human language. Their eyes went to Francis, who couldn't stop smiling even though he looked like he had just rolled out of bed, and then to Arthur, who was giving a tired smile and looking like he had been through a train wreck; but, it was obvious why Arthur looked so happy and content despite his horrid appearance. Why it was so worth it. In his arms were two bundles, one in a pink blanket and the other in a blue blanket, their faces red and squishy, their cheeks smooshed against Arthur's shoulders and teeny tiny thumbs in their mouths.

"Aren't they beautiful?" Arthur breathed, happy tears in the Omega's eyes as he gently rubbed the backs of his babies, "We named them Amelia and Matthew. Isn't it perfect?"

"They be gorgeous, darlin'," the Irishman said, bouncing his own baby on his hip.

"Ye'll be a good Mam, Artie," Aliaster said with a good natured smirk. He turned to look at Francis, who couldn't stop looking at his mate and babies. "Francis, I'll say it again: hurt me broder and I'll fuckin' kill ye. Ye'll be a good Pap, Francis, I see it in ye."

"Merci, Aliaster," the Frenchman said with a small smile, looking at the Scot for the briefest of moments before turning back to his family, "I appreciate eet."

"Don't worry about us," Arthur added quickly, leaning over to give his Alpha a kiss on his scratchy cheek, "We're already so, so happy..."

"Aye, we can tell," Seamus said with a motherly smile, "so you don't regret it then?"

"Absolutely not," the Brit said quickly, pausing a moment to adjust Amelia, who had started to whimper softly, "Why would I ever want to give this up? I have everything I need, everyone I love...it all turned out alright."

"Oui," Francis agreed brushing his Omega's bangs out of his eyes, "eet did, mon lapin."

* * *

**OMG THE END WAS SO SICKENING SWEET**

**Sorry for any grammar mistakes and sorry for how long this is, I didn't expect it to be this long...**

**I'll be working on _23tryintomakeachange's_ request next and the other requests from _fierysuzaku_. **

**I am still taking requests and, if you don't have a specific one, you can always request a song that I could listen to and base the one shot off of**

**Please remember to review**

**I love you all and thank you for the reviews~!**

**With love,**

**~Kitty**


	5. Daughter -NyoAmericaFACE

**I am so sorry for not updating sooner! Life has been a pain in my ass and I didn't find any motivation to update this fic...UNTIL TODAY**

**In other news: my uncle and aunt have an exchange student from Germany living with them! YAY! And I'm super excited to get to meet her! (I've never met anyone that wasn't from England or Ireland so give me a break this is a big deal for me...)**

**Written for: _23tryintomakeachange_**

**Hope I did ok with this v.v'**

_**Warnings: mentions of drugs, an eating disorder, self harm and abuse (sexual, physical and mental), fluff, mentions of yaoi, mentions of teenage girl stuff (ie: periods, boys, prom,body image issues), rated T/MA**_

* * *

**_5# Daughter (FACE Family) (Nyo America)_**

She loved her dads. She really did. Her Daddy was British with insanely large eyebrows and a tattoo she had seen once, and her Papa was an extremely flirty and goofy Frenchman. They were a good couple, fighting like an old married couple, but never going too far, and Amelia was really, really happy that they had adopted her from her biological family, an absent father and a crack addicted mother that was honestly a good lady, just not "mother material".

Amelia loved her family but, sometimes, they just didn't _understand_.

In addition to her Daddy and Papa, she had a brother that was only three days away from being a full year younger than her. Mattie, or Matthew, at first, had been adopted by a family far worse than her own. His biological parents had been killed in a car wreck and, at first, his uncle took him in...only to molest him. This left him traumatized and gave him loads of issues to work out with therapists all the way up to his freshman year of college. But it had been Amelia that got Mattie to talk for the first time, it had been her to protect him from bullies and get him to trust Daddy and Papa.

She loved her family but she was, clearly, the only girl in a house full of boys.

* * *

_Age 5.5:_

Francis was sitting on a black park bench, his satchel -what Arthur jokingly called his "man purse" -sitting next to him and holding all the essentials: his wallet, his cellphone, snacks, band aids, sunscreen, kleenx, etc. The playground was full of children and their parents and pets, Amelia among them. Usually it would be Arthur here with her, but Francis -and the child therapist -had insisted that Arthur take Matthew to his therapy sessions at least twice a month. He was reading a romance novel with a plain cover when, suddenly, his state of peace was broken by a shrill, continuous cry; the Frenchman looked up, eyes widening when he saw Amelia with tears running down her chubby cheeks, her braided pigtails flapping behind her in the wind as she ran, throwing herself at her Papa's midsection. "Ch-Cher, w'at eez ze matter?" he asked, picking her up and setting her on his lap, rubbing her back as she hiccuped and sniffled into his grey t-shirt, "Why are you crying?"

"A-A-A boy said I was _fa-fat!_" she exclaimed sobbing loudly, looking up at her Papa with big, watery and puffy eyes, snot smeared beneath her nose, "Is he r-right, Papa? Are I f-fat?"

A muscle in Francis' jaw twitched as he gritted his teeth. "Non, mon cher, you are not fat," he said digging in his bag for a Kleenx, wiping up the snot from her face, "Zhat little brat eez just mean." Of course Amelia wasn't fat, a little chubby -sure -but it was all baby fat and perfectly normal for a five and a half year old. The Frenchman was pissed that some stupid child would dare make his baby cry! "Do you want moi to talk to 'is Mama et Papa?" Amelia nodded and, after letting her Papa gather up his stuff, grabbed onto Francis' index and finger -her tiny hand only able to grab those two fingers -and led him to where she saw the boy and his Mama.

Her Papa walked up to the other boy's Mama, giving her the smile that always made grown up ladies turn pink, as he greeted her with a "Bonjour, mademoiselle" and a handshake. Amelia wandered off, going over to the little boy who had called her fat, who was now playing in the sandbox. "_Hey!_" she snapped, crossing her arms over her Wonder Woman t-shirt as she glared at the boy.

He looked up, "What do you want, Miss Piggy?"

Amelia frowned, putting her hands on her hips as she leaned forward and cocked her hip -sass personified for a five and a half year old. "I told my Papa on you and he's telling your Mommy right now!"

The little boy looked over at Francis and his mother, laughing obnoxiously afterwards. "Your 'Papa' is stupid!"

"_Is not!_"

"Yeah, he is! He looks like a girl!"

"Take that back!" Although Amelia saw nothing wrong with looking like a girl -her uncle David had started to grow his hair, wear dresses, and asking to be called "Elizabeta", "_she_" instead of "_he_" and to be called "auntie" instead of uncle -the little girl knew that what the boy was saying was an insult. That her Papa was somehow bad for having long hair and being, maybe, a tad..._feminine_.

"No! Your Dad is a cry baby, little girl!" the boy shouted back, "Your Dad should just go far away and never come back! No one likes a cry baby, little girl-boy!"

At this point, Amelia saw red, her eyes stinging from angry tears. "No. He's. Not!"

"Aww, did I make you cry? Are you going to cry back to your stupid Dad?"

No...no, Amelia would not run back to her Papa crying! Instead, she leaped forward, pushing the boy into the sand and beginning to slap the boy's face, pull his hair and grab fist fulls of sands before rubbing them in his eyes. "Take it back! Take it back!"

The little boy was screaming and crying for his Mommy, but Amelia only stopped once Francis had wrapped one strong arm around her torso, picking her up off the boy and pulling her back despite how she struggled and growled, like an animal, kicking out her legs and waving her arms to try and get at the little boy who had insulted the very man who had protected him against further damage. "_Amelia_! Amelia, w'at on Earzh 'as gotten into you?!"

"He started calling you names and wouldn't say sorry!"

Secretly, Francis felt very proud of his little girl for sticking up for herself; but, he couldn't exactly come out and tell her he approved of her using violence. He thoroughly scolded her in front of the little boy's mother, quickly apologizing and hurrying away. Once he was out of eyesight and earshot from the mother, he kissed his daughter's cheeks, telling her how proud he was as he bought her an ice cream, but reminding her that hitting people was wrong. Amelia nodded along to her Papa's every word, not really paying attention. All she knew was that if anyone dared to talk about her Papa, her Daddy or her Mattie then she'd hit them in the face until they cried and apologized. No one would say mean things about her family, after all, Amelia _was_ a hero.

* * *

_Age 10:_

"Daddy?"

"Yes, love?"

"...I think I'm pregnant..."

The Brit dropped the plate he had been cleaning, spinning around to look at his daughter with a red face and a horrified look in his eyes. "What the bloody hell makes you think that?!"

Amelia swallowed, looking down at her math homework with teary eyes; she swung her legs underneath the table, purposefully hitting the chair across from her as she slowly felt herself dying of shame. "A-A boy kissed me under the jungle gym today," she sniffled, the tears unable to be contained as she began to sob, rubbing her fists into her eyes, "I-I'm sorry, Daddy!"

"Oh...Oh, love, don't worry," Arthur breathed, a hand on his chest as his rigid back sagged in relief. He sat in the chair next to his daughter, pulling her into his lap and rubbing her back; automatically, she threw her arms around his neck and hid her face in his collar bone, seeking the comfort of her Daddy. "You're not pregnant, baby, take a breath. Breathe, baby, breathe...that's a good girl."

"I-I-I'm not gonna have a baby?" she hiccuped, rubbing her face with the back of her hands.

He stroked the back of her head, her curly brown-blonde hair in two braids, and shook his head. "No, no, of course not...you're too young to have a baby..."

"But...Alfred kissed me-!"

"You don't get a baby by kissing, Amelia."

"...Then how-?"

"I'll tell you when you're older," the Brit said quickly, blushing bright red and avoiding Amelia's gaze, although she didn't know why.

"Ok! Thank you, Daddy!" she cheered, throwing her arms around his neck, again, and kissing his cheek.

* * *

_Age 13:_

_(mentions of periods/mood swings so if you're grossed out by these things, well...skip this tid bit)_

At first, Amelia was confused. She had no idea why she suddenly stopped fitting in all her clothes, why she could no longer squeeze her ass and hips into her pink, leopard print leggings, why her chest was growing and making her shirts uncomfortably tight. All these things made her burst into tears, curling up on the floor to her room, prompting either Daddy or Papa, sometimes both, to knock on her door and ask what was wrong, she'd immediately sob out "I'm fat! I'm too big!" Of course, they'd deny this, only turning her despair into anger as she screamed at the top of her lungs, "YES I AM! I DON'T FIT INTO ANY OF MY CLOTHES! I'M _GROSS_!" Her parents would share a look she couldn't decipher, before telling her she was -simply -going through a growth spurt, that they would donate her old ones to charity and buy her new ones. She couldn't tell them that, no, it wasn't -simply -a growth spurt, she couldn't tell them about how she was starting to grow hair in odd places, how zits formed on her face and how much that alone distressed her in addition to the fact that her chest ached and was growing, that she was constantly angry and sad and anxious and confused and lonely. It was too embarrassing.

She only understood when, in eighth grade, state law dictated her school teach her about puberty, sex and STDs. Going through class made her realize that what was happening was normal, that there was nothing at all wrong with her, but it was still embarrassing and made her blush. Not to mention that when her _male teacher_ brought up _periods_; that absolutely terrified her.

The days leading up to what she would refer to as "The Incident" until her early college years, she was an absolute monster. She was throwing temper tantrums left and right, at one moment screaming at her parents in a shrill voice that, surely, the neighbors could hear, and -the next moment -break down into an honest to God sobbing fit. Her fathers were terrified, not knowing what was wrong; so, when Amelia called home and complained of a stomach ache during school, they picked her up early -thinking that it was school stress and she just needed a break. It was only when she made her way to the bathroom later that night, dressed in sweatpants, an over sized pullover hoodie, her hair up in a messy bun and, overall, feeling like total shit, and saw the dark red streak on her cotton panties that she was overcome with a feeling of dread. _Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, SHIT!_ Amelia thought as she wadded up toilet paper and placed it on her underwear, knowing this wouldn't last very long and she needed to man up -figuratively -and ask one of her fathers to..._buy her pads_.

Stiffly, she walked down the stairs, seeing her Daddy in the living room, watching Doctor Who with his legs curled underneath him, a green quilt over his lap; Matthew laid on the couch, his head on Daddy's lap and letting the British man run his fingers lovingly through the wavy strands, his eyes drowsy and blank from the new medication he was prescribed for his growing Depression, which had only increased with the threat of puberty and an increase in hormones. Amelia shook her head, no, her Daddy was out of the question, he'd just make a big deal out of it. She heard the sound of water in the kitchen being turned on and knew that her Papa would be the safest bet; she walked through the kitchen doorway, unseen by Daddy or Matthew, and saw her Papa washing dishes, his shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows and his hair tied back in a black rubber band. He turned and, seeing Amelia, smiled softly, "Bonjour, mon cher, 'ow are you feeling? Better?"

Her face turned a bright red, her eyes darting around the room to avoid her Papa. "Papa, I need you to get me, um, something."

"W'at eez it, Amelia? Anyzhing."

"...I...I got my, uhm, I-I need you to go and, uh, buy me some..._p-pads_..." she mumbled, crossing her arms tightly across her budding chest.

"...I...I, uh, you w'at?" Francis asked, blushing bright red in disbelief. _There was no way!_ His baby was, what, thirteen? She was too young to be getting her...well..._that_!

"I said: I'm bleeding out of my freaking _vagina_ and I need some pads, damn it!" she hissed glaring at her father and feeling rage wash over her, embarrassed enough and just pissed at this point that her Papa was only dragging out what was a horrible encounter.

Francis jumped, blue eyes wide and obviously terrified, as he nodded hurriedly. "I, um, oui! Oui, I'll go do zhat, u-uhm, if you wouldn't mind washing ze dishes -of course, you don't 'ave to if you don't want to!" he said quickly, turning off the running tap.

She sagged in relief, nodding her head and feeling no less embarrassed but extremely grateful. "Thank you, Papa, and I will." Her Papa quickly left the kitchen, pulling on his coat and shoes, making a half assed excuse to Arthur as he left quickly for the convenience store to buy his daughter feminine hygiene products, where he'd only be met with more confusion and embarrassment when faced with the different types of pads and the fact he had no idea which would be better.

* * *

_Age 13.5:_

With the help of her aunt, Elizabeta, Amelia was beginning to develop wonderfully, having learned the art of pads, tampons, bras and how to put on make up to hide zits that were red and highly noticeable. So, in the summer before she went off to become a Freshman in high school, she went to summer camp for the last time. She took selfies with her summer camp friends -two girls, one with red hair in tight sausage curls and pale, freckled skin, and another with skin the color of chocolate and her black hair in skull tight braids -Amelia hung out in her white bikini on the beach, swam in the lake and giggled in the dark of her cabin. It was there that she met Ivan, a cute, awkward, Russian boy that was the same age as her -a couple months older, perhaps, but only by a couple. He had beige-blonde hair and eyes that reminded Amelia of Mattie, who could never come to summer camp or anything because of his issues -instead, he visited their aunt Monica and her husband, only Ivan's eyes were more violet instead of blue-purple. Ivan was an inch shorter than Amelia, a little on the heavy side, but he had the sweetest, awkwardest smile that young, innocent, Amelia found truly appealing. He was so nice to Amelia, standing up for her when boys teased her and pulled at her ponytail; they became inseparable, almost, and Amelia would get butterflies in her stomach and a stupid smile on her face whenever Ivan's hands brushed any part of her body.

He was her first kiss. Her first, sweet kiss. It had been at night, when Amelia and some other kids had snuck off to swim in the lake in the dark; they were sitting on the pier with their feet in the water, playing truth or dare. It had been Amelia's turn and her red headed friend dared her to kiss Ivan. With a big blush, Amelia sat up on her knees, leaning close to an equally red faced Ivan -who placed his hands on her waist and hips -and placing their warm lips on each other's. It was...awkward. Awkward and perfect and made Amelia's stomach explode in butterflies. They held hands through the rest of the night, and the rest of summer camp.

But, sadly, it had to end. Everyone left summer camp to their own hometowns, big cities or small, outta the way places, and her innocent, summer romance ended. She would never, ever, forget Ivan and how nice he was to her.

* * *

_Age 15:_

Being a Sophomore in high school, and virtually a loner her Freshman year, Amelia joined cheer-leading, working out and dieting at a rapid pace over the summer until she was too light to be the base of the pyramid. She got in, amazing the veteran cheerleaders with her apparent, natural skill and bubbly attitude; it was almost over night that doors started opening for her, the doors to popularity as she was expected to stay up to date with the latest fashions, go to all the parties thrown by either athletes or cheerleaders, and sit with the cheerleaders at lunch. She grew her hair out down to her waist, because long hair was in, straightening her waves and curls with a straightener every morning, applied make up that wouldn't melt off when she sweat during practice or gym class, wore skirts, leggings, skinny jeans, blouses, tight shirts, tank tops, anything that would show off her thinning figure. Essentially, she had left her brother behind in the dust. What had been a tight bond was now almost nonexistent, almost all conversation between them decreasing as Amelia left Matthew to eat lunch alone, go home alone, be home alone -seeing as how both their parents were now working.

Amelia was going to her first high school party that Saturday, having made sure all her homework was done on Friday so that her parents would let her go. She teased her hair, dousing it in a fine layer -or two -of hairspray, wearing bright red lipstick, dark eyeshadow, black peep toe heels and a red, shimmering, strapless dress that went to the end of her thighs. She walked down the stairs in her denim jacket, the click of her heels drawing the attention of her Dad and Matthew, who where sitting in the living room watching a documentary about Canada. Her Dad took in how she was dressed in about three point five seconds, narrowing his eyes almost immediately afterwards and crossing his arms. "And where do you think you're going dressed like that?"

"What's wrong with how I'm dressed?"

"...you look like a hooker..." Matthew mumbled, biting the side of his thumb before looking back at the TV.

She scowled at her brother, blushing indignantly, "Shut up, Matthew."

"I...tend to agree with your brother, dear," Arthur said, "Go change."

"_No_. I look _fine_!"

"_No_, you _don't_. That outfit is completely inappropriate for someone your age-."

"I'm _fifteen_, _Dad_, I'm not a kid-."

"Perhaps not, but you are my daughter and you're going to go up to your room and change into some different bloody clothes or you're not leaving this house at all!"

" 'ey, you two, w'at eez all ze yelling about?" her Papa said walking into the room, his eyes going from to husband to his daughter and just...staring. His expression was shocked, at first, but then turned into understanding as he bit his lip, his brows furrowing in disapproval. "Oh."

"Papa, these clothes are fine, right?" Amelia said turning to look at her Papa, widening her eyes and fluttering her eyelashes, a hopeful expression on her face. She knew that her Papa was a sucker for, what her Dad called, the "Princess Face".

"I...uh, Amelia, why don't we zee if zhere eez zomezhing else you could wear..." Francis said avoiding his daughter's eyes, least he fall victim to her cuteness, "I'll even 'elp. Come on." The Frenchman dragged Amelia into her room, his eyes briefly examining the room she had decorated with money her grandparents gave her for her fifteenth birthday; it was purple with posters of pop and indie rock bands and half naked men, white shag carpets, a queen sized bed with a bronze frame and black and white, floral bedding. Francis opened his daughter's closet, rifling through it. "Em, why don't you wear a nice blouse et a skirt? I zhink zhat'll be much better zhan...zhat."

"...Do I have a choice?"

"Non, not really." He handed her a short sleeved, pink silk blouse and a black miniskirt that was long enough to cover her thighs and cover her ass when she bent over; Francis left Amelia's hair but took off her make up, redoing it so that it looked more natural with light eye shadow, eyeliner and mascara and soft, pink lipstick. "Zhere~! Zee, you're a beautiful, young, lady." Amelia would never admit it, but she did think she looked pretty. Instead of thanking her Papa, she scowled, which only increased Francis' smile because he was used to the same behavior from Arthur. He escorted her downstairs, getting an approving nod from Arthur, and walked her to the front door. "Do I 'ave to go over ze rules? No drinking, no drugs, no l'amour wizh boys or girls-."

"Ok, ok, ok, Papa! I got it!" Amelia shouted, rolling her eyes and tightening her hold on her purse, "Bye Papa, I'll be home at midnight" -she kissed her Papa's rough cheek, looking over to her Daddy and Matthew, who had walked in to the room -"Bye Daddy, Mattie." She gave them a kiss on the cheek, too.

"Y-You look pretty, Amelie," Matthew said with a shy smile, "They'll l-love you."

"Thanks," she said, giving her brother a wink and walking quickly out of the house, going towards her friend's, Georgia's, white convertible.

"Stay safe, dear!" Arthur called after her, worrying his bottle lip; Francis kept him from running after their daughter, holding him close to his chest and running his hand along the length of Arthur's back.

"I'm zure zhe'll be fine. Right, Matthieu?"

"Oui, Papa. Amelie can take care of herself..."

"I don't know," Arthur said, looking between his husband and his son, "I have a bad feeling about her-."

"Calm down, eet eez just your maternal instinct acting up again."

"...maybe you're ri-HOLD UP A GODDAMN MINUTE! I AM A FUCKING MAN, YOU BLOODY FROG!"

* * *

_Age 16:_

"Amelia, where are you going?!"

"_Out_."

"Absolutely not, young lady, I told you you're grounded until you stop failing your classes!"

"FUCK YOU OLD MAN!"

"WATCH YOUR LANGUAGE! AND DON'T DISRESPECT ME LIKE THAT! I'M YOUR BLOODY FATHER-!"

"NO YOU AREN'T! MY DAD LEFT ME AND I ACTUALLY HAVE A MOM! YOU'RE NOTHING!"

_Slap!_ Arthur had slapped his daughter. He didn't mean to...he _didn't_ and, immediately, he felt guilt crush his heart in a fist. "Amelia, honey, I'm so sorry!"

"...I don't want to fucking hear it..." she hissed, clutching her stinging cheek. It wouldn't have hurt so much if her Dad hadn't unknowingly slapped her where there was already a bruise. She'd have to reapply her concealer in the car. Without another word, she turned around, grabbed her purse and headed to the door.

She was in the front hall when her brother grabbed her arm. Matthew had grown taller once he hit puberty, tall at five foot six and a half, standing over Amelia, who was five foot three. He looked a lot like Papa, too, with his shaggy, wavy, blonde hair grown to the middle of his neck, his pretty purple-blue eyes hidden behind oval, wire frame glasses; he didn't have a lot of muscle on him, looking extremely feminine with his rounded hips and lean body. It didn't help that his voice was soft -although it had deepened into a tone that was deep enough to not be mistaken for anything other than male -and that he was actually the shortest boy in his grade. "Amelie, please don't be mean to Dad," he pleaded with his big, sad eyes, "He's just worried...we all are. You're too skinny and you're so different-."

Amelia's face contorted into a sneer as she ripped her bony arm from his loose grasp. "Oh, shut the fuck up, Matthew," the older sibling snapped, "Jesus, grow a pair and get your nose out of my life! Maybe you should be more concerned about you getting the shit beat out of you at school?" Matthew shrunk away from her, fidgeting and pulling at the sleeves of his baggy pullover hoodie and looking terrified at the shorter female. "_Tsk_! Pathetic..."

He watched her tug her bomber jacket over her tank top and short, sequence skirt, her fake tanned, skinny legs that were basically just bones with skin on them, encased in knee high, black leather boots. She walked out the door and into the hot summer night, slamming it shut behind her, and Matthew ran to the window next to the front door, peeling back the curtain. The Freshman, soon to be Sophomore, watched as his sister got into a gold colored car, a guy in a red t-shirt behind the wheel. Amelia slid into the passenger seat, greeting him with a red lipstick smile, the guy said something -his face hard and cold -that made Amelia's smile falter, she said something back and, all of a sudden, he was screaming in her face, his hand gripping the back of her hair and holding her face inches from his as spit flew from his mouth as he screamed. Even from Matthew's perch at the window, he could see the fear in his sister's blue eyes as she stammered something that was probably an apology. The guy -Matthew knew he was a football player and a confirmed douche bag, but didn't know his name -sneered, shoving his sister into the passenger side door before placing both hands back on the steering wheel and driving off.

Matthew felt helpless. _Pathetic_, he thought meekly, scrubbing away the tears that threatened to spill over with the fabric of his sleeve. Amelia wasn't the only one that had said it, others at their school had, too. He was just sorry that his pretty, popular, cheerleader sister had a brother like him. _A disappointment_. Twisting the ends of his over sized hoodie in between his fingers, he felt his arm burn and he scrunched his eyes shut. He reopened them after a minute, or two, and headed up the stairs to his room. Glancing into his parents' room, Matthew glimpsed his Dad sitting at the edge of his bed, sobbing into his hands, Papa's arms around him as he whispered soothing words in French. His arms burned again as he looked away, tugging at his sleeves. He really hoped that his only friend didn't have work so he would be able to pick up his cell phone, so Matthew could call him and they could _talk_, or...or he'd have to do _that_ again.

._._._.

Techno music acted as background noise as Amelia was handed an expertly rolled joint; she placed it between her lips, the red of her lipstick staining the white paper for the millionth time, that wasn't an accurate number but Amelia wasn't counting, and inhaled. The hot smoke filled her chest, leaving her in an exhale, as she leaned over the coffee table, its surface cluttered with empty beer bottles and empty food wrappers, and handed the joint to her boyfriend. Her boyfriend with golden hair, golden skin, a thousand watt smile, big arms, big muscles. _And a big dick_, Amelia thought, giggling as she leaned back against the back of the couch. At the moment she sat in the basement of some guy her boyfriend, Jared, knew, the two guys sitting in two chairs across from Amelia and the other guy's girlfriend -her name started with an S -who shared the green love seat with the ugly floral pattern.

"What she giggling about?"

"Nothing, she just gets that way when she smokes."

The guy -did his name start with...T? Or was it a W? -nodded, accepting the joint from Jared. "Nice."

"Hey, baby," Jared said, looking at Amelia's foggy and not quite there eyes, "do you wanna try something really fun?"

How could she say "no" when he was looking at her like that? "Sure~."

"Try this," he said, handing her a little yellow pill, "You have to swallow this."

"It's really fun," Stacy -or was it Sarah? -said, seeing Amelia's look of apprehension, "Don't worry, it's harmless."

Amelia took the pill, placing it on her tongue and watching as Jared threw back some beer before leaning over the table, his hand tangled in the back of her hair, and pressed their mouths together. The beer flooded into her mouth, allowing her to easily swallow the tablet of Ecstasy, and she was vaguely aware of Stacy/Sarah -or was it Samantha? -swallowing her own little tablet. It took a few minutes, but when the drug took over, Amelia felt like she was walking on cloud 9, giggling and feeling absolutely on top of the world.

"Hey, don't you think it'd be hot if they kissed?" one of the guys suggested. Amelia didn't know who, she was too focused on the techno and how it reminded her of octagons.

At this, she pouted playfully. "Aren't I hot already?" Stacy -or whoever she was -laughed, along with the two other guys.

"Come on. _Kiss!_"

**(A/N: YURI AHEAD! Skip to _Age 16.5_ if this makes you uncomfortable)**

"Well, you heard the boys. Better give them what they want~" Stacy said and Amelia giggled. The two girls leaned forward, hands in each other's hair and on their too skinny waists, and smashed their lips together. Amelia giggled, tightening her grip on Stacy's hair, tugging lightly as their tongues met, sliding in a sticky, wet mess that made both girls moan. Jared and his friend soon joined, erections straining their jeans, leading their girlfriends' hands in the appropriate places. They were like dolls, being positioned and played with. Stacy straddled Amelia's lap, her shoulder length, brunette hair with blue highlights swinging around her face. Their hands were pushed beneath the other's skirt, by passing quivering thighs to their core. Amelia's fingers felt pubic hair, fingertips brushing against Stacy's clit before being surrounded in something hot and wet. Stacy's hand found its way inside Amelia, fingers sliding in with an obscene squishing sound.

In the back of Amelia's head, she knew that, if she wasn't high off her shit, she wouldn't be wet at all.

Amelia tossed her blonde hair, wavy and long, going to beneath her rib cage, back and moaned as the other girl's fingers thrusted inside her, making sure she kept her fingers in motion, too. Stacy gasped and panted, humping Amelia's fingers and thigh. At some point their clothes were removed, their hot skin meeting and their breasts pressed up against each other. Hands -male hands -ran down Amelia's sides, felt the very visible rib cage, the jutting out bones of her wrists, gripping the bones of her hips and pelvis that shouldn't be visible. And soon a dick was inside her, replacing the fingers that were there a moment ago, and she moaned like the whore Jared thought she was, rocking into the powerful male thrusts, her breasts being licked by the pink tongue of the girl getting fucked across from her, Amelia's hand rubbing the other girl in just the right places.

The room was hot, filled with panting breathes and the smell of sweat and sex. Amelia knew, in the back of her head, that if she wasn't high off her shit, she would be throwing up and sobbing at what she had become.

* * *

_Age 16.5:_

_(Underage drinking, suicide attempt, implied eating disorder)_

Amelia was now a Junior and, even though it was the middle of winter, she still had cheer leading practice. They still had to cheer for the winter sports, like hockey and basketball. If Amelia looked in the mirror, she could see all the bones that made up her spine, the bones that made up her hands, fingers, feet and toes. She was skinny, _pretty_, not like she was when she was little and fat and disgusting.

In reality she was like a sink hole, slowly dying as she starved herself.

Arthur and Francis tried to find doctors to help, _this wasn't normal_, but doctors were still horrifically misinformed about eating disorders. They said that it was just a phase, that Amelia would be fine. It wasn't anything to worry about.

But Amelia was not alright. She couldn't get warm, she was always so fucking freezing, layering up until she looked like a giant snow ball, and her periods weren't regular anymore. They'd be gone for months, only to return with a frightening amount of blood or would come that month, but not on time and would be hardly more than a trickle. Nothing was normal about her body anymore.

That day it was freezing and her Dad came to pick her up from cheer leading practice, by then he was already finished at his job as a journalist, after he had picked up Papa from where he was at his restaurant. They headed home, the car ride silent except for the radio, Arthur running through a check list in his head, they gone grocery shopping earlier in the week, so they had food for dinner, he had told Matthew to walk home after school, he didn't have therapy until next week. When they got home, Francis went to the kitchen and Arthur followed, planning to get some work done on his laptop while spending some quality time with his husband at the same time. Amelia walked upstairs, after depositing of her winter get up in the front hall closet. She walked to the bathroom, adjusting the ponytail that held her hip length blonde hair out of her face, finding it closed. "Matt, you in there?" she asked, knocking, "Dude, I need to piss!" There was no response and, figuring that he was in his bedroom and had just accidentally closed the door on his way out, she pushed the door open. It was unlocked. But the scene before her had her screaming. On the floor of the bathroom, naked, was Matthew, his hair damp but his body otherwise dry, blood coating the skin around his wrists and dripping onto the black and white of the tile floor in the bathroom. "Mattie?! _MATTIE!_" Amelia shouted, hysteric, as she ran to his side, tripping and falling hard on her bony knees. Unable to get up, she crawled to him, tears falling in thick globs down her face and her bird like heart beating her rib cage, attempting to break her bones. "_Wake up!_ Please?_ PLEASE!_" She shook his shoulder but he didn't respond. Was he even breathing? "_DADDY! PAPA! IT'S MATTIE, PLEASE!_" Her body shook, her arms around herself as she sobbed and screamed, rocking back and forth, her forehead on Matthew's side.

"Amelia, w'at eez -_MON DIEU!_ MATTHIEU!" Francis ran forward, sliding on the floor and kneeling beside his boy. He pushed him on his back, Matthew had been curled up on his side in the fetal position, and placed Matthew's head on his lap. "Mon baby, mon baby, non, _non_...don't leave moi, please, mon _baby_..." Fat tears were sliding down Francis' cheeks, too, but his despair was quiet, instead of Amelia's heartbroken screams, hiccups, coughs and sobs. "ARZHUR, CALL NINE-ONE-ONE!"

"Why-?" Arthur cut himself off, a sob stopping his sentence as he saw his babies and his husband on the floor of the bathroom. "B-Bloody hell..." he lamented in a whisper, scrambling for the phone in his pocket.

Amelia didn't hear her Dad's shaky voice talking to the operator, didn't take inventory of the words, she didn't even hear her Papa's French words sobbed out quietly. All she could hear was her Dad's hyperventilating, the sound of her Papa kissing Matthew's clammy forehead and damp hair.

She wasn't aware of anything except the sound of her blood racing, the sound of her world crashing and crumpling around her. Even that turned into white noise, one thought prevailing over anything else:

_It's all my fault_.

~oOo~

Amelia gulped down more of the vodka in her flask. The crap she was drinking was cheap, but she didn't care. She just sat on the cold floor, her knees to her chest and her back pressed to the wall, the smell of disinfectant, death and sick swimming all around her. Honestly, she should be in the hospital room with her brother, with her tired and emotionally tattered parents. But...she couldn't. She couldn't stand to be in that room, to look at Mattie's sweet, pale face, his small body hooked up to all the machines. _It hurt._

Her parents weren't at the hospital yet, they were still at work, working so they could pay for the hospital bill and to make sure Matthew got the care he needed. Earlier that day, when Amelia first got there, skipping school, she ran into a boy. He was sitting in a chair at Matthew's bedside, holding his hand. This..._stranger_, had pale, pale skin and snow white hair, muscled enough to tell that he worked out but didn't play sports, even while sitting, Amelia knew he was on the tall side, taller than her, taller than..._Mattie_, but not extremely so; he wore black jeans ripped at the knees, black combat boots, a black t-shirt and a black leather jacket with a silver iron cross stitched on the back. He was wearing so much black that it looked like he was going to a funeral. At the thought Amelia's breathing stuttered because _it could have been_. It could have been a funeral. "Who the fuck are you?"

The guy went rigid, saying something softly to Matthew in a rough, masculine language that Amelia assumed to be German or Russian or Swedish or whatever, before he stood up and turned to face her. He had five piercings in his left ear, three in the other, a piercing on the corner of his eyebrow and two below his bottom lip -snake bites. But the most shocking part of his appearance were the red, crimson eyes set against his pale skin and hair. It reminded Amelia of the blood they saw on their floor. On Matthew's skin. "Gilbert..." he said and his voice was rough, deep, and, even though it was smothered in heart ache, it sounded naturally cocky, "I go to your school. I'm in ze grade ahead of you."

"Oh..." she had never seen this boy before. "Then what the fuck are _you doing here?!_ This is my brother and-!"

"Bull_shit_," Gilbert hissed, his hands curling into fists at his sides, "If you vere his sister, you'd protect him from all ze cunt lickers zhat beat him at school, zhat torment him! If you vere his sister -a good, big sister -you vould know he vas cutting long before now! You vould have talked to him, tried to help him! You did zhis to him! You are ze one zhat tossed him aside like trash vhen zhat is vhat he fears most! You. Are. A disgusting. _Whore_!" With that, the albino stomped passed Amelia, shoving her out of the way, the chains of his wallet and the dog tags around his neck jingling as he walked passed, pissed out of his mind.

And that was how Amelia found herself sitting on the floor of a hospital hallway, drinking out of a flask.

"Young lady, you can't drink here," a doctor said, frowning severely, "this is a hospital."

"Sorry, Doc," she said, slurring her words together in a jumbled mess, "I'll...I'll gah..."

"Young lady?" the doctor said worriedly, talking a step forward, "Are you ok? How do you feel?"

"Feel...Feel..." Amelia tried to make a coherent statement but all she said was lost in the gurgling mess of drunkenness. Her stomach lurched violently, her intestines twisting and seizing up. "Sick," she had time to say before leaning over and throwing up what little was in her stomach. Was that blood? The doctor's hands were gripping the shoulder bones that were poking out through the skin, keeping her up right. When had she started to tip over?

"Nurse...emergency...alcohol poisoning...!"

Nothing made sense, everything blurring in and out of focus, her body feeling extremely cold and numb, even though she could feel the hair sticking to her face because of sweat. The doctor sounded far away, gargling his words like he was underwater. When she tried to move, her legs gave out and she could hear something crack. Pain clawed up her leg to her hips to her head and she screamed -at least she thought she did -and all the vague shapes and colors, sights and sounds and feelings all faded away, slowly at first then all at once...until all that was left was darkness.

Amelia didn't remember a thing. Later, she'd find out that her leg broke because her bones were too fragile. Not enough nutrition. Later, she'd find out that they had to give her a stomach pump or else she would've died. All she did know was that she woke up in a bed next to Mattie, her parents hovering at the foot of her bed. "What's wrong?" her voice hurt, her eyes hurt, everything hurt, but she had to speak. What happened?

Her Dad opened his mouth but all that escaped was a wheeze before he broke down sobbing. "My babies, my babies! What the fuck is wrong with me?! My babies...!"

Papa kept her Dad from collapsing on the ground, although he looked tired and frazzled, tears silently coming from him, too. "Amelia...Amelia..."

And they cried. Over her. Amelia turned onto her side, looking at Matthew's still figure. He was hooked up to machines. As was she. _Pathetic_...and Amelia cried for Matthew, her parents, herself.

How did she end up like this?

* * *

_Age 17:_

She looked at herself in the bathroom mirror. Her skin had a healthy glow again, her eyes bright with awareness. She had quit cheerleading sometime ago, now that she was working to get herself back up to an average weight, and chose to place her efforts in, not only getting better, but getting her GPA up and improve her struggling grades. She had dumped her old friends, her boyfriend, her slutty clothes, all her make up and diet magazines...and, honestly, she felt..._lighter_. Like a weight had been lifted off her shoulders. Amelia still wasn't happy but her doctors said that wouldn't happen for quite a while.

There was only one thing left to do.

Amelia lifted the scissors and _snip, snip, snip_. Her hair, that went down pasted her ass, fell to the bathroom floor in chunks, the broom and dust pan sitting by for when Amelia was finished. By the time she was done, her wavy hair was neater, her naturally light blonde highlights showing through the honey color of her hair, and was down to her chin, like Matthew's and Papa's -a sort of tribute to them.

She descended the stairs, walking into the living room. Her Dad was sitting in the recliner, reading a book. Papa was at work still and Matthew laid napping on the couch, a long, purple, thermal shirt covering the jagged scars on his wrists, Gilbert was with him, too, napping on the couch and being the big spoon to Mattie's little spoon.

"Daddy?"

He looked up, blinked, "You cut your hair?"

A nod, "Yeah...D-Do you like it?"

"Yes, I do actually," he said with a soft smile, "It suits you better than that long hair business you had going on before. You remind me of a Flapper, honey, you're very cute."

Amelia matched her Dad's smile with one of her own.

~oOo~

"...This place is weird..."

"No, it's not."

"Yeah, dude, it is...anyway, it smells like ass..."

"A-Amelie it's actually really nice, if you give it a chance..."

She rolled her eyes, looking around the small club/lounge area restaurant thing they were going to be spending time in. There was a small stage for Indie and Rock bands to play on (undiscovered bands of course), surrounded by tables, chairs and booths, a bar on the right wall surrounded by bar stools but didn't sell alcoholic drinks, instead selling cold drinks, coffee and tea. The restaurant was decorated in warm, earthy tones, like shades of dark red, shades of dark green, browns and had beige walls with posters and signed pictures of musicians, authors, poets and painters. The lighting was dim, waitresses hurrying past with trays and Amelia caught a whiff of coffee and some food that smelled delicious, but the air around them smelled like spices, cigarettes and incense. Wrinkling her nose, she crossed her arms and looked over at her brother and her brother's boyfriend, who stood next to her, holding hands. She had no objections to their relationship, Gilbert treated Mattie like a prince, but she did tell Gilbert that if he hurt Mattie then Amelia _would_ cut off his dick, grill it, put it between two buns, put some ketchup on it and_ make him eat it_. "Why are we here again?"

This time, it was Gilbert's turn to roll his eyes, "I told you, I vant you to meet a friend of mine..._aaaaaaaaaaand_, he's right zhere, come on!" Entwining their fingers, Gilbert pulled Matthew over to a booth right by the stage, Amelia following. She had on her bomber jacket, skinny jeans that hugged thighs that had a smaller gap between them, pink converse, a black, baggy, Bob Marley t-shirt and a red bow on the left side of her hair, deciding on something casual and easy for the night.

Her eyes widened when she saw who was waiting for them in the booth.

He had beige-blonde hair beneath a red beanie, violet eyes, a biggish nose, a broad jaw, big hands and broad shoulders. Although he was taller and muscular, clad in jeans, black converse and a blue plaid shirt, Amelia knew him anywhere. "I-Ivan?"

The guys looked up and blinked before his eyes widened in realization, "Amelia? From summer camp?" A Russian accent still clung to his words and it brought to mind a blushing little boy and awkward first kisses.

"Y-Yeah..." she said, suddenly reminded of how skinny she still looked and how she must look disgusting. She wound a strand of hair around her finger, tugged, "Long time now see, huh? You look...you look old. I mean, you look great!"

Ivan laughed as Gilbert say next to him, Matthew and Amelia sliding into the space across from them. "Spasibo~ you do, too. I really like your hair, I like it more than the long hair you had all that time ago."

She blushed, seeking Matthew's hand under the table as reassurance. "I -thank you. Thank you, that really means a lot," Amelia looked down, seeing the half finished coffee and book in front of Ivan, seeing the title of the book, "_All the Light We Cannot See_? I loved that book."

Slowly, a warm smile stretched across Ivan's face and something..._sparked_ in his eyes, that had Amelia feeling nauseous. The good kind. "I hope you don't mind, but I ordered for you all," Ivan said, addressing the table, he looked at Amelia with that same _something_ in his eyes, "Do you still like hamburgers?"

_No_. No, she didn't, they were full of fat and calories and she hadn't eaten one in _years_. Still, Amelia smiled, and said, "I love them."

* * *

_Age 18:_

She.

Had.

Done it!

Graduation was only in a couple weeks and Amelia had done it, she would be walking down the aisle with the rest of her class, in a cap and gown, going to a college for engineering and technology. That college had already given her a scholarship, applauding her efforts in a well written letter to boost her GPA and get her grades up. She would be graduating with a 2.7 GPA, not the best but great given the circumstances, and had gotten all As in Science and Math, Cs and Bs in everything else.

Knock, knock. "Amelia? Do you have clothes on?"

"Yeah, Mattie, why?"

Her brother entered her room -he was seventeen and had grown a little taller, gained a little muscle -wearing a black suit, a lavender shirt and purple tie. "Ivan and Gil are here...they're talking to Dad and Papa."

"Oh, fuck!" Amelia cried, throwing her hands up in the air. "We better go down there then...how do I look?"

Matthew eyed her. She wore a pale, turquoise strapless dress with an empire waist and tulle skirt that went all the way down to the floor, her feet encased in golden, gladiator, heeled sandals, a gold shall hanging from her elbows, a golden locket -a gift from Ivan -around her neck and all the make up she wore was mascara and lip gloss. "Killer."

With a blush, she snorted and hit her brother lightly on the arm, before sliding her hand into the crook of Matthew's elbow. He led her down the stairs and, sure enough, there was Ivan and Gilbert, in their own suits, talking seriously with their fathers.

"-and if you hurt my children I swear to the almighty God, I will cut your dicks off and feed them to rabbits with rabies," Arthur finished, his arms crossed as he glared at Matthew's and Amelia's prom dates.

"Ja, I understand, sir," the albino nodded, shaken up but handling it much better since Amelia had threatened him with almost the same thing. Ivan, on the other hand, was the color of ash and nodding hurriedly in fear.

"Dad, please don't make my boyfriend faint."

"..._Boyfriend?_"

Ivan looked like he was about to pass out. Or throw up. Maybe both.

"Ah, l'amor," Papa sighed, pressing a hand to his heart, "I remember w'en we were like zhat, mon lapin, zo young et in love..."

"We are still young _and_ in love, stupid frog," he huffed indignantly, elbowing his spouse in the side, "Now hurry it along so we can take some pictures."

The four teens amused the older men, posing and squeezing close together for at least twenty pictures before Francis took the camera from Arthur's possession and waved them off. "Oh, Mattie, Amelia, one more zhing," Francis said as they were about to get into Gilbert's car to head to prom, "Please call once you leave the prom and start 'eading 'ome, oui? I would like a 'eads up zo zhat me et your Dad can..._you know_..."

"...Ew..."

"OH MY GOD, TMI!" Amelia shouted, slamming her hands over her ears and stomping to Gilbert's car, "I AM SO NOT LISTENING TO THIS!"

"...Will do, Papa," the younger sibling said, awkwardly patting his Papa's shoulder before getting into the passenger seat of Gilbert's car.

They went to prom, got their pictures taken, danced and hung out with their friends -normal teenager stuff. After Amelia quit cheerleader she managed to gain a few new friends that were A LOT better than the ones she had before, Sakura and Heracles, Toris and his girlfriend Feliks -a wonderful girl in the middle of her transition into one -Katyusha and Nikolai, all of which were lovely couples that joined them at prom.

But, it was afterwards, in the room of their hotel, when Ivan kissed her lip glossed lips, picked her up like a princess and laid her on the bed, that would stay burned in her memory about that night. When Ivan pressed his mouth to the skin of her neck and breasts, the flesh of her stomach that was no longer sunk in but plump, his body moving between thighs that no longer had a gap, she felt electric. Amelia couldn't remember when she had last felt that alive and she didn't know why.

Why then? Why at that moment?

It would only be when Ivan ran his nose up her neck, smelling her natural scent mixing with sweat, and sucked her ear lobe, whispering, "Podsolnechnik, I love you" that she would know why.

Later, she and Ivan would tell their kids an edited version, but Amelia would tell them this, which would be the absolute truth, _"I felt all my troubles melt away when your Daddy told me he loved me. It was like a breath of fresh air, that I finally got my happy ending. I had stopped existing and started living again."_

* * *

**OMG THAT WAS SO LONG AND I'M SO SORRY!**

**It took a long time to update and then the product ending up being over nine thousand words...good god what is wrong with me?!**

**I'm sorry for the grammar/spelling mistakes and I'm sorry to** **_23tryintomakeachange_ if this isn't exactly what you wanted... TwT forgive me if it isn't...**

* * *

_**Characters:**_

**Arthur (England)**

**Francis (France)**

**Amelia (Nyo America)**

**Matthew (Canada)**

**Alfred (America/briefly mentioned)**

**Ivan (Russia)**

**David/Elizabeta (Nyo Hungary as a transwoman which is eventually Hungary) (Side Note: I'm not an expert on trans people so I'm sorry if any information is wrong, and, from what I heard, when you get the surgery to become female you don't have a period -again, this is based on my limited knowledge so sorry if what i'm saying isn't correct -but I think a transwoman would have more knowledge over a guy -i say this based off my experience that guys rather they be gay or straight know little about the female body)**

**Gilbert (Prussia)**

**Sakura (Nyo Japan/briefly mentioned)**

**Heracles (Greece/briefly mentioned)**

**Feliks (Poland) (Once again a transwoman -but in the midst of a full transition from male to female)**

**Toris (Lithuania)**

**Nikolai (Nyo Belarus)**

**Katyusha (Ukraine)**

* * *

**Sorry this is a long one shot and sorry this took me long to update! **

**I will be working on these requests in this order (maybe):**

**_fierysuzaku:_ Sweet Devil/Black Butler Setting (so no horny pair of devils...but they will be horny) (so yeah smut)**

**_MasterFinland:_ Nyo/Virgin England and France's first time**

**_fierysuzaku:_ Cardverse (smut or nah? YOU DECIDE!)**

**_halfdragonbooknerd:_ secretly fluent in each other's languages (caution: this may lead to smut)**

* * *

** Dear _The Forgotten Traveller_, if the poem you are referring to is by Walt Whitman then...yes, lol, it actually does really remind me of pirate SpaMano (I read this in class so imagine THE CONFLICT IN MY FANGIRL MIND AND SCHOOL MIND) ...*cough* anyway, yeah, it actually did remind me of them, which is weird since the poem was supposed to be for Abraham Lincoln (a little fun fact). And I actually really do like the poem, which is as much as I can say without sounding like an English teacher, haha**

* * *

**ANYWHO! Please review, favorite, follow and MAKE REQUESTS OF ME! **

**(PS: reviews help me write faster)**

**With endless love and adoration,**

**~Kitty**


	6. Black ButlerSweet Devil AU

**HI GUYS WHAT'S UP!**

**So I finally updated this. Again. **

**And this is written for: _fierysuzaku_**

**This takes place in a Sweet Devi/Black Butler Setting so...ENJOY**

**(PS: CHECK OUT THE POLL I HAVE UP)**

_**Warnings: implied smut with an old ass demon and fourteen year old earl, yaoi, underage sexual stuff, demons, revenge, violence, gore, horror, creepy pedophiles, mentions of rape, mentions of mutilation, mentions of necrophilia**_

* * *

_**#6 -Sweet Devil/Black Butler FrUk**_

Arthur hated him. Francis was merely a pawn in his game, like everyone in his life, but, nevertheless, Arthur loathed the man. Not that Francis was really a man. He was a demon, but that little bit of information was to stay between Arthur, Francis and whatever god had their nose turned up in disgust. Not that Arthur particularly cared what some god or deity thought. Grudgingly, Arthur admitted that Francis was useful. Especially in the bad situations Arthur always found himself in the middle of, being the Queen's dog and all that.

* * *

Arthur struggled, yanking at the ropes that tightly bound his slender, bony wrists to the head board. He didn't know how he got himself into a situation like this. Again. Why did the perverted ones always go after him, of all people?! The blonde tugged uselessly at his bonds, a grunt of annoyance slipping pasted the wet silk of his gag.

A little over a month ago, the Queen had requested that he look into the abduction and homicide of fifteen boys, ranging in age from ten to fifteen. They were all high risk victims, male prostitutes or errand boys or something of the like that would make them easy prey, yet, all of them were reported "missing" in the following forty eight hours; their employers, and families, said they were "good boys" and never caused trouble. Even the Masters and Mistresses of the prostitutes and Yao Wang -Arthur's contact in the Underworld, drug dealer, specialty: opium, has his fingers in many pies including arms and diamond smuggling, age unknown, Chinese immigrant with a reputation in the Chinese Underworld, as well, is frequently accompanied by his younger step-sister from Taiwan, Mei (age unknown, personality unknown, background unknown, skilled with blades and close combat fighting) -said that they were good and hardly got into any scraps or "turf wars" with others. Only the two fifteen year olds had done any sort of drugs and they were far from addicts. Arthur, aided by Francis, found that the boys were abducted in the middle of the night, when they were running errands or whoring themselves, and kept in captivity for months. When they were found, their bodies were mutilated, many unnecessary surgical procedures. Their bones had been broken, adjusted, their skin cut and replaced in patches, one of their eyes blinded or cut out, their hair dyed auburn, their bodies skinnier than they were before the abduction and their waists pinched, the laces of a corset imprinted onto the skin of their backs and imprints of the whale bones -what is used to make the internal, hard skeleton of a corset -painfully visible on the front of their torso, a clear sign that a corset _had_ been implemented and that it had been laced painfully -unhealthily -tight.

Arthur's contact in the medical examiner's office -Heracles Karpusi, Greek immigrant, twenty seven, father of eight, arranged marriage to Dilara Adnan (Turkish immigrant, twenty nine, has had five miscarriages, and is once again pregnant, due in mid September) for eight years, releases information to Earl Kirkland (Arthur) to carry on his indecent, but consensual, affair with coworker Kiku Honda, a Japanese immigrant of twenty -had said that the boys had been beaten and hacked to death -death via blood loss -and internal tearing, and scarring, indicated sexual assault over the time span of their captivity, mutilations and murder. Seeing their bodies covered in scars and stitches made Arthur think back to That Night but he had kept his composer, at least, until he went back to his manor and retreated to the safety of his room, where he could break down in relative solitude.

Obviously Arthur had gone undercover as an errand boy in order to draw out the criminal and it had worked. Too well.

Which was how Arthur found himself tied to a large bed, clearly belonging to a man of money, indicated by the silk, blue sheets and the overall opulence of the room -lavender and gold thread tapestries on the walls, heavy, dark wood furniture, hand carved with the designs of angels, grape vines, stars and moons, large, arched windows framed by heavy, purple velvet curtains, a large fireplace and a large gold mirror hanging about the mantel, little trinkets and various odds and ends that would go into a bedroom (perhaps a tad feminine) made out of or accented by gold. The main color scheme in the room was purple.

Arthur yanked at his ropes again, feeling the rope chafe his slender, fragile wrists; he planted his feet on the bed, trying to gain leverage and tug but Arthur lacked the strength -he was a fourteen year old boy, petite, slender, short and compact but he was not terrible skinny, he was an Earl, after all, and could afford to eat well -and whoever had kidnapped him had removed his shoes, leaving him in wool stockings that went up to his thighs and that slip and slid against the silk bedding, providing Arthur with zero leverage. He huffed again, feeling the silk wet further with his saliva. The blonde didn't like being tied up as he was, it reminded him too much of...of _Before_. The time he'd rather not remember. Or think about. Or even acknowledge. Arthur felt his breathing turn ragged and he hoped he wouldn't have an asthma attack. Not here, not now. _Damn that stupid butler!_ Arthur raged internally, wishing he wasn't gagged so he could shout it for all to hear, particularly Francis, _He was supposed to protect me, be my eyes and ears, and what does that get me?! Kidnapped! AGAIN! That bloody demon, he wouldn't know his own arse in the dark if it wasn't-!_ The fourteen year old's quiet raging stopped, stuttering to a halt as the heavy wooden door to the bedroom creaked open.

A man walked through the door way, a silver, hooded tray in his hands, he closed the door behind himself and set the tray down on the nightstand beside the bed. He looked familiar...but Arthur could not place him."Good morning, my love, I see you're finally awake," he said, his voice a deep baritone, he smiled but it came off as awkward more than anything, "I am terribly sorry that I had to do that to you, but, you see, with all the other precious moonbeams before you, I learned that you try to run away. You are such _shy_ things! And, from the moment I first saw you at the Barron's gala, beside his cow of a wife, I knew you were different then the other little moonbeams before you. You're perfect! You're the one!"

_...This man is insane,_ Arthur thought, wishing he could say something. As soon as this man walked through the door, a deep feeling of unease settled in the pit of his stomach. Something black and _dark_. The green, emerald depth of Arthur's eye -the other one covered by a white patch for reasons -betrayed his fear and contempt while his face remained carefully neutral.

"Don't look at me like that!" the man barked out, slamming his fists down on the nightstand, making the tray rattle. Immediately, his mood changed and he smoothed down the front of his coat, moving to slide a hand through his hair and place the hairs, which had fallen out of place in his brief expression of rage, back in their slicked back position. "I...please, excuse the outburst," he apologized quickly, leaning over the bed with the same awkward, unstable smile as before, "You see, the moonbeams before you were not like you. They were so different! But you..." he ran his gloved hand over Arthur's cheek and the boy fought back the urge to flinch, "It is like your skin is actually made from the moonbeams...and you're even missing one eye, just like him!" He leaned forward some more, his face uncomfortably close. "Tell me, do you know him? You must! You're a child of the moonbeams just like him!"

Arthur ran through what he knew about this man in his head. He had seen this man at the gala, but hardly knew anything about him, he had been undercover as the Baron's wife's servant -and errand boy-and hadn't conversed with any of the guests, merely observed. The man was tall and muscular, making his clothes seem like they stretched over his body and that the seams would pop at any moment, they were stretched so much; he had blonde hair he kept slicked back, blue eyes that had an emptiness to them and an accent that wasn't British. _German_. He was fabulously wealthy, obviously, lived alone, had enough servants to take care of the property but no more than necessary. And this man was clearly living in a delusion of some sort, thinking of his victims as "moonbeams" and somehow connecting them to a past acquaintance of his. It didn't take an expert to see that whoever this past acquaintance was, was the subject that this man's delusions.

_Name...name...name...I need a name!_

"Oh, I'm sorry, precious! That gag must be bothering you...!" he said, his deep voice rumbling and trying hard to sound comforting, "Let me." The man removed the gag and Arthur breathed in deeply.

"I...Your 'moonbeam' -from before -do you...do you h-have a photograph? Maybe then I would recognize him..."

"Y-Yes! Yes, I do, I have a painting of him here!" The big man ran over to the wall to the left of the bed, reaching up and yanking off a black shroud. What was revealed was a painting in a golden frame, clearly done by a professional; in the portrait was an auburn haired male sitting in a golden framed chair with red velvet padding -he was in his early twenties or late teens with a slight, skinny frame, almost feminine, but had rounded cheeks and elegant lips, in his hair was a strange curl off to the side and he had a happy, amber eye, the emotion in his eye matched the slight smile on his face, a black, elaborately embroidered eye patch on his right eye and he was dressed richly in good quality clothes but he was obviously not wealthy- to the auburn haired male's left was a man with a shock of white hair, pale skin and red eyes -he was older, nearing thirty with lines by his eyes and around his mouth, but his white hair was clearly not from age but from his albinism gene, he had a cocky smirk on his face, a mischievous glint in his eyes, he was dressed mostly in red and he was clearly the man of the house with the his family crest ring and his gold embellished cane - and, to the auburn haired male's right was a blonde man, obviously the one that had kidnapped Arthur, but in the portrait he was younger and, while he looked like he had a stick up his ass, he lacked the air of mania that was around him. "There he is," the older man pointed to the one in the chair, "that's my moonbeam. Here he went by Feliciano...I don't know what he went by with you, Earl Kirkland."

Arthur's eyes widened and he yanked at his bonds, feet kicking against the sheets, as he let out a small exclamation of shock. "W-What?"

"Yes, Arthur, I knew it was you all along...you can't fool me," he said, stalking over to Arthur and leaning forward to run his fingertips along his cheek, "Ever since I saw you and that butler of yours working on that Spontaneous Combustion case, I knew you were the one. The ones before you were just practice but now I know. I don't have to operate on you, my love, you are perfect just like Feliciano was."

"Was? What do you mean 'was'?" Arthur asked, alarm seeping into his seemingly calm tone. Spontaneous Combustion case...wait...that meant-. "Ludwig." _Ludwig Bielschmidt, inherited automobile manufacturing company after his older brother -who inherited the company from their father and grandfather -died in a boating accident..._with their male servant. _Feliciano Vargas_. "Feliciano...he's gone now...isn't he?" he tried to make his voice empathetic and regretful. _Of course!_ He thought, as it all clicked in place. "Feliciano was your lover wasn't he?"

"Ja!" Ludwig said, nodding his head violently, "H-He was really my brother's lover, but I know Feliciano didn't love him! He loved me! He even said so, he said he loved me more, that I was his favorite!" He paused, breathing heavily and trying to recover from his out burst. "But now you're here...you're here to be my new moonbeam, to love give me love..." The blonde climbed up on the bed and Arthur tensed, drawing up his knees to his chest in an attempt to protect himself. "I can be with you now. I wasn't able to be with Feliciano like that, Gilbert was a greedy bastard, but I can be with you!" Ludwig slid his big hand up Arthur's black, wool stockings, starting at his toes, sliding his hand up his small foot, up his fragile ankle bones and up his leg to his knee. "I can finally know what moonbeams taste like. Feliciano described it to me but I want to taste it for myself..._I want to taste all of you_."

Arthur felt his heart still and, although he knew that Bielschmidt's previous victims were raped, it still sent a shocking chill down his spine. _Oh my God...Francis, help me, damn you!_ He gulped, feeling the German's hand go passed his knee, diving beneath the hem of his brown shorts and to his thigh, Bielschmidt's fingers teasing where Arthur's stockings ended.

"_Arthur_..." the whisper in his ear made him sick as he felt Ludwig's lips press sloppily against his cheek, "We'll become one tonight."

The Earl pulled uselessly at his restraints as his kidnapper -and soon to be rapist if Francis didn't hurry the fuck up! -kissed his cheek and jaw, moving to bite and suck harshly, and clumsily, on Arthur's neck, unbuttoning the young Earl's shirt as he did. The Brit let out a cry in pain, Bielschmidt's treatment of his neck both painful and unwanted; he inhaled sharply when he felt a hand on his nipple and, misunderstanding this as a sound of pleasure, Bielschmidt grasped it, twisting it harshly. Arthur sobbed, kicking out his legs and hitting the older man's side.

"Now, liebling, be careful, you don't want to injure me, now," he said in a tone that was supposed to be playful, grabbing Arthur's ankle and holding his leg out and to the side, effectively spreading his legs and Ludwig placed his body between them. "Let's take this off so I can see all of your pretty face." Just as Ludwig leaned down, tongue and lips attaching themselves to Arthur's chest, he slipped off the Brit's eye patch, letting it fall to the bed.

Arthur twisted his body pathetically, opening his eyes as tears were threatening to fill them. "Francis..." he whispered, swallowing thickly then, louder, "_FRANCIS YOU STUPID DEMON, GET HIM OFF OF ME! THAT'S AN ORDER!_" The pentagram in his right eye glowed, his green eye becoming an electric, glowing green, the lines of the pentagram bright yellow.

As soon as the words left Arthur's lips, a shadow loomed over the hunched figure of Ludwig Bielschmidt. Nothing but a tall, imposing shadow and glowing, red eyes. "I suggest you get off my master," before a reply was given, Bielschmidt was grabbed by the back of his shirt and tossed to the other side of the room, crashing hard into the wall. Shaking terribly, Arthur looked up at his butler, who was dressed in his normal, sharp uniform, only his hair was tied back by a black ribbon -which he only did when he was doing something that required all his attention and effort -and his usually calm, blue eyes were bright, glowing red.

"Francis...g-get me out of here..." Arthur muttered, his eyes watering and his breathing labored.

"Of course, Young Master," he said with a small bow, Francis cut the ropes with scooped the young human, his left arm around Arthur's waist and the other beneath his bent knees. Arthur wrapped his arms around Francis' neck, clinging to his butler tightly as he continued to shake.

"N-Nein..."

Francis turned slightly, glaring at the German who was struggling to stand up onto his own feet. "Oh? I had thought I had incapacitated you..._tsk_, pity."

"G-Give me back...Give him back!" Ludwig shouted, demanded, as he straightened himself and pulled out a gun. Arthur's gun.

Arthur tensed, tightening his grip on Francis' neck.

"My young master is not yours," the butler stated sourly, "his soul, his body, everything belonging to my young master is mine. It would be best if you would remember that."

The hot feeling in Arthur's stomach that grew at Francis' words was scary, terrifying, but he tightened his hold around his butler, drawing strength, comfort, from his very being. Although he'd never admit that to the demon.

"Nein! _Nein!_" Ludwig shouted, hysterical, as he shot at Francis.

The butler didn't even flinch, just gave Ludwig an annoyed look. "Pitiful."

His face contorted in a desperate, disbelieving scowl and he balked, his entire body tensing. "I didn't want to do this...but you leave me no choice," the blonde stated, his accent thick in anxiety and mania, strands of his slicked back, blonde hair dislodging and falling limply around his face and forehead. He ran to a lever on the side of the wall, hidden with in the outside structure of the fireplace, and pulled it. Heavy chains and shackles shot from the walls, attaching themselves to Arthur's wrists, upper arms, thighs and ankles, yanking him from Francis' grasp as chains and shackles wrapped themselves around Francis' entire body. The chains suspended Arthur an inch above the ground, his back to Ludwig's chest, and he began to thrash and struggle, making frustrated grunts. "Shhhh, it is alright, my moonbeam," Bielschmidt said, pressing his hot chest to the Earl's back and sliding his too big hands down Arthur's slim sides, "Everything will be alright. No one can keep us apart. You're mine" -Ludwig squeezed Arthur's crotch through the fabric of his shorts, the Earl releasing a panicked noise of distress and discomfort -"and no one is going to change that."

"Francis!" _Don't let him touch me! Don't stand for this!_

The call of his name was unnecessary. The butler was already scowling, yanking apart the chains as if they were nothing but thread, letting them fall at his feet. "I am afraid you have made a grave mistake," Francis sighed, eyes glowing demonic red once again as he stepped over the pile of chains and approached, "I cannot simply allow you to disrespect my master and violate him with your disgusting touch. That is unforgivable."

"Francis, for the love of God, stop playing nice!" Arthur spat, keeping the tears from falling as his eye glowed even brighter, "Either remove his arms from his body or kill him! This instant!"

"Of course, my Lord."

~oOo~

That night, as Arthur sat in his large bathtub, he scrubbed harshly at his skin.

"Young Master, be careful. If you scrub too hard you will only end up hurting yourself."

"Screw you, idiot!"

"Such fowl language. Are you sure you are an Earl and not some rat on the street?"

Arthur glared harshly at his butler before scoffing and turning away. "I don't know why you would bloody care anyway...I can still feel that bastard on my skin..."

"Young Master..." Francis sighed, grabbing the human's wrist gently and tugging it away from his body, "don't do this" -he removed the wash rag from Arthur's grip and set it to the side before helping him stand up in the tub -"let me help you" -he wrapped the Earl in a fluffy, soft, white towel and, when his eyes met Arthur's, his normal, unreadable, blue gaze had turned red and hungry -"let me wipe that man's touch from your skin."

Yes, Arthur hated Francis. Loathed his butler with a passion. He loathed how Francis saved him so easily, made him feel weak and vulnerable. Made him like feeling that way. It brought shame to his title. He loathed how Francis new where to touch him to make him clutch at his bed sheets, how Francis smirked down at him when Arthur began to writhe and make such whorish sounds of desire and want. How Francis made his skin heat and sweat, the only thing that could simultaneously cool it and heat it up even more being Francis' hungry, red eyes. How Francis caressed his insides with his fingers, making him scream in abandon. It brought shame to his name. Arthur loathed all the hot, delicious, vile things that Francis whispered in his ears when pushing into him, telling the Earl how much he adored him, how much he cherished him, how sinful he was, how good his skin tasted, how he wanted to consume him, eat him, eat him, eat him. Arthur's father would surely be rolling in his grave if he knew how much Arthur enjoyed it, craved it, even, how hard it made him, how fast he came when Francis was inside and hitting his prostate, how many times he came, how many positions they tried, how many sheets they ruined in the course of their contract, how many marks were left behind on their bodies, how many lies were told, how many truths were told, how many things that would be said and done, only to be ignored or forgotten come morning.

Out of all the things Arthur hated about his demon butler, and their contract, he especially hated the moments afterwards. When they were both out of breath, basking in the aftermath with their jelly bones. How Arthur would curl into Francis, how Francis would let him, hold him. Arthur would cry sometimes -it was rarer, now, then it had been in the earlier stages of their contract -and babble on and on about how much he needed Francis, how gravely important Francis was, how lonely he was, how he was so scared sometimes for no reason at all other than some random event in the day reminded him that his house had burned down, that his parents had been murdered, their killer roaming free, how he had been kidnapped and tortured, how he was living on borrowed time. Sometimes an "I love you" even slipped in. And Francis would comfort him, say all the right things.

Truthfully, Arthur didn't know rather or not Francis was sincere. That was what he hated the most.

Yes, Arthur hated his butler, but Francis was all that he had left. This...demon, this plague, this scourge, this nightmare given flesh, was the most important thing to him. What a truly sad thing.

"Find something you love and let it kill you."

Arthur had heard a saying like that before and almost laughed at the irony. Perhaps he did love Francis, in some horribly, twisted way, and Francis would, no doubt, kill him some day. Arthur didn't particularly mind, as long as he was able to make whoever murdered his parents, sold him off and besmirch his family name pay, Arthur didn't mind what Francis did to him. That was their deal.

Until that day came, however, he had this. He had these moments -Francis -to get rid of all the monsters, to make him feel clean again, even if his soul, his flesh, was tainted by sin. Even if he could still feel Ludwig Bielschmidt's screams ringing in his ears.

* * *

**OMG I'M DONE! I DID IT!**

**THIS WAS DIFFICULT GUYS, NO JOKE, THIS TOOK ME FOREVER!**

**Anyway I hope you liked it and please excuse any grammar/spelling errors I'll fix those eventually (maybe)**

** I'll post the next one as soon as I can! Until then, please be sure to REQUEST WHAT YOU WANT ME TO WRITE ABOUT IN THE COMMENTS!**

**AND THANK YOU GUYS FOR BEARING WITH ME!**

**(PS: I am really super glad that everyone liked my last one shot. I didn't know how well it would go over but I'm super thrilled that it was well received! Everyone's reviews make me so, so happy!)**

**I love you all!**

**~Kitty**


	7. I Just Wanna Make Love to You (hetero)

**Good evening ladies and gentlemen (hopefully not any boys and girls~!)**

**This is for: _MasterFinland_**  
**And, just as a warning, THIS IS HETERO SMEX, M'KAY?! I have very little experience writing something like this so I'M SORRY IF IT SUCKS!**

**Anywho, please enjoy **

_**Warnings: hetero, smut, virginity, awkwardness, teenagers, swearing, NO FLAMES, if straight people sex makes you go "ew" LOOK AWAY**_

* * *

_**#7 -I Just Wanna Make Love to You (hetero) (Virgin/Nyo England x Regular France)**_

Alice was a virgin, despite what everyone thought. She dressed in torn jeans, torn leggings, torn tights, tight skirts, low cut shirts, she had one side of her head shaved and she was, in a few words, a rebel. Most of her friends were, in fact, guys. Sure, she had "fooled around" with one of them, but he had initiated it, Alice had simply gone with the flow, all they did was make out and he, uh, well, got to second base with her but she hadn't allowed him to actually put his "thing" inside her. The Brit was a curious girl, you could say. She didn't know what love was but didn't suppose it was that flowery shit in movies or novels; all she knew was that, in order to actually have sex with someone, she needed to trust them. That was one step before love, she supposed, but trust was important.

She had issues with trust, it didn't come easily for her.

So when Francis, who had a reputation of being an overly possessive playboy with many failed relationships to his reputation, one of those relationships being with Alice's dear friend Amelia, asked Alice out she had simply gone with the flow. Francis was never a "full featured friend" in her life, even though he had hung out around her friends before. Her friend, Lukas, the one she had fooled around with, had begun to act like an asshole to her -it was a long, complicated story that involved him indirectly asking her out, professing his feelings, her requesting something entirely platonic, his agreeing to it and then him trying to ban her from dating Francis -but she had held fast, something totally unlike her. It was something she wanted to try, she wanted to try a relationship with Francis even though it probably wouldn't last.

Lukas had said Francis only wanted sex. Alice said that it was her cross to bear.

But there they were, six months into it and all Francis and Alice had done was make out. Francis said he didn't mind, when Alice said -in the very beginning -that they had to go slow, he said that she was the one that had control over that.

There they were, six months into it and at Francis' house, his parents away at work, watching Courage the Cowardly Dog on Netflix. They were cuddled on Francis' bed, their lower halves beneath the comforter. Francis had his arm around Alice's waist, his fingertips brushing up and down her side, and Alice had her head on his shoulder, her fist clutching the hem of his t-shirt. He didn't question how she held his t-shirt, her silent way of drawing comfort without drawing attention to her vulnerability, he simply held her close, switching between nuzzling the side of her head and smelling her hair. One of his weird habits was smelling her.

Suddenly, in the silence of his bedroom, Alice felt that odd feeling she got sometimes; it felt almost like vulnerability or desperation or like an itch she couldn't scratch. A feeling of restlessness engulfed her, that made her want to fidget. Usually she would settle this by masturbating in the safety of her room or in the shower or bathtub. She, of course, couldn't do that now. Alice pulled away from Francis, pausing Netflix before closing Francis' laptop and putting it on his night stand.

"Alice-?"

"Just let me do this," she interrupted, climbing up on his lap and straddling his thighs. She held his face in between her hands, small and slim, the nails bitten to the quick, tilted it and brought their lips together. She had heard complaints, from Lukas who was the only other guy she had been with in any sexual way, that her tongue was too slimy, but she never heard a complaint from Francis, only compliments, because, even though they argued about all manner of things, he understood in a way Lukas never did, how important her appearance was to her, no matter how much she denied it. Alice wasn't shallow, by any means, and anyone you asked would tell you the same, she was just...exceedingly self conscious, secretly. Alice kissed her boyfriend the way she always did on the rare occurrence that she initiated a kiss or a make out session; she began with regular kissing, their lips sliding together, sucking, pushing and pulling.

Francis slid his muscular arms around her waist and, miraculously, she didn't feel confined like she would normally. Alice felt...normal, ok, safe. She knew Francis' arms wouldn't protect her from a nuclear disaster or World War III, but she didn't feel like Francis would hurt her. She didn't feel manipulated or used. She felt...she felt cherished. She slid her hands along his jaw, feeling the stubble she would never admit to loving, and gripped his chin, opening his mouth so his lips could part and their tongues could touch, tasting the Twizzlers and Mountain Dew they had minutes before. It wasn't bad, and Alice didn't mind. She didn't mind anything that would have made her hesitate normally. She didn't mind the heat of his mouth or the wet feeling of his tongue as he pressed his tongue against her and she pressed back, a feeling of uncertainty plaguing her as it normally did. As if sensing this, Francis pulled away, only slightly, to hum, "Mon cher, you're zo good. Zo zweet" before diving back in, ecstatically coaxing her to fight back with her tongue. "Alice?" he questioned, pulling back and pressing his forehead to the side of her neck, panting, "Eez eet alright if I put on zome music?"

She nodded and he leaned back, grabbing his iPod and scrolling through it to find a suitable playlist -he had a weird habit of making many playlists to organize his eclectic music library, a habit Alice shared -before putting his iPod on the speakers, that also charged it, and hitting "play". While fiddling with his iPod, Alice had removed her tight fitting, black t-shirt that said "Black is Such a Happy Color" in white writing **(A/N: real t-shirt guys)** and tossed it to the side. When Francis' attention returned to her, his eyes widened and he made a shocked, choking noise. Alice was glad she wore her nice underwear today; she didn't match her bra and underwear, fuck that, that was too much effort, but she wore her nice ones. Her bra was black and pink stripes with pink lace, a Victoria Secret one that was hella expensive but made her boobs look fucking awesome. Without waiting for him to think up a verbal response, she buried her fingers in his soft hair and pulled his body forward and his head back, kissing her way across his jaw and down his neck, stopping to suck a hickey into the skin. He groaned, his fingers digging into the skin of her back before relaxing, sliding along the smooth flesh, up and down her spine, hesitating at the back strap of her bra. "You can take it off...if you want," Alice mumbled against his neck.

His breath hitched and his fingers fiddled with the latches, struggling for a couple seconds before it came undone, falling limply around her shoulders and breasts.

"Hold Me Now" by Red was playing in the background.

Francis kissed down her neck, his facial whiskers scratching her fragile skin lightly, one hand on her back and the other in her hair.

Her hands tightened in the back of his blue t-shirt as he kissed the swells of her breasts.

He kissed a hardening nipple and she drew a sharp breath.

"_Off_," she insisted breathlessly, tugging at his shirt.

He pulled away, helping to take off his shirt and throw it in the direction of her own black t-shirt and expensive bra, before returning his hands to her skin and his lips to her breasts. When he took her nipple into his mouth, sucking and biting gently, she arched her back, gasping louder, and digging her fingers into his shoulder blades. "W'at did I do to dezerve you?" Francis whispered huskily, rubbing his nose along her skin as he inhaled.

Her heart beat faster, her breath lodged in her throat. She ran her fingers through his hair, kissing his scratchy cheek before trailing her hands down his chest. "What did I do," she whispered, fingers hesitating above his jeans, "to deserve you?"

"You're amazing," the French teen said, like a prayer, as he gently grabbed her wrist and led her hand to his erection, "Look w'at you do to moi. You turn me into a mess wizhout even trying."

Alice didn't respond, simply grabbing his erection and rubbing it through the denim, inexperienced. Her boyfriend wrapped her hand in a loose grip, leading the motion of her hand, whispering embarrassing encouragements in her ear; he sucked at her jaw right below her ear, her breath catching, and a blush blooming brighter across her face and down her neck. She swallowed audibly, "F-Francis, uhm, can we...I...can we go all the way this time?" Alice asked shyly, ducking her head and staring at Francis' chest rather than his face.

"Alice..." he breathed, tilting her chin up so that that he could look in her eyes, "You don't 'ave to if you don't want to."

"I-I know," she stuttered, embarrassed by the situation, "but I...I want to."

"I live to please you," Francis purred, kissing her sweetly. He flipped her over, so that she was lying on her back, and slowly removed her grey sweatpants and pink underwear with chibi panda heads on them, soon her neon green socks joined the pile of her clothes on the floor.

She squeezed her thighs together, her fingers twisting in his bed sheets self consciously. "C-Can you...I mean...Your jeans-?"

"Oui, give me a minute," he said, stumbling off the bed, "Zhese are zort of tight." The French teenager shimmied out of his jeans, casting aside his navy blue boxer briefs and cobalt blue socks with little pink flamingos on them. Now naked, he kneeled on the bed and gently parted Alice's thighs, leaning over her to suck at her nipples. She gasped, arching her back and clenching her fists harder in Francis' sheets; he ran the tip of his tongue around the puckered aireola, nipping at the tip before trailing nips and bruising kisses across her breast to her sternum, trailing his kisses down her stomach to her pussy.

"Francis, you don't have to! I mean, I know guys don't-."

"Shh, non, I want to do zhis for you," Francis said, his breath hitting her core and making Alice shiver. He massaged her thighs, using his index finger and thumb to push apart her lips and move aside her pubic hair; Francis ran his nose along her folds, inhaling the sharp scent of her pussy, his teeth grazing her clit, making her thighs quake beneath his hand and her breathing to quicken. When his tongue touched her entrance, her body tensed at the unfamiliar wet feeling, but she relaxed soon enough, allowing his tongue to penetrate the place where only fingers had been before. He buried his face in her core, his tongue slithering and eating her out with vigor.

Soon enough, Alice gave in to the sharp cries and gasps that fought to escape her lips, her hair gathering around her head, hips rolling up and her lips parting open in pleasure. Her fingers clenched in his hair, holding his head in place but allowing him to dive in deeper, his facial hair causing a pleasurable, tickling sensation that made her back arch and her lips to part. "F-Francis...!" Her thighs shook and she screamed as the pressure in her stomach exploded, her body tensing and her fingernails scraping against her boyfriend's scalp as she came, her juices soaking his tongue, running down his chin and smearing across his cheeks.

He pulled away, both of them panting and covered with a thin layer of sweat. "Mon cheri, you are a goddess," the French teen purred, licking her cum from around his lips before kissing his way up her stomach, leaving sticky marks in his wake. "Je t'aime, je t'aime..." His words were like prayers, whispered quietly and reverently.

"F-Francis..." she whispered shakily, wrapping her arms around his back and neck, "Please, I...can you...I mean...you can go inside..."

Their faces matched in brightness and he nodded, suddenly shy and nervous. "I...I -ok." Francis reached into his nightstand drawer, rummaging around until he found a condom, checking the expiration date before opening the packaging and sliding the condom on. "Ready?"

Alice nodded, "Y-You?"

"Oui," he said, voice shaking nervously as he grabbed her hips, angling his cock to her entrance and slowly, gently, pushing in.

She gasped sharply, grabbing his shoulders as she was stretched, something inside her popping as he slid himself all the way in.

"Did I 'urt you? Alice, I am zo zorry, I didn't -I mean -I didn't mean-."

"Shhh," the Brit hissed, fingers fumbling as she buried them in his hair, tugging him down until they were nose to nose, "I'm fine. Just...start already. Aren't you supposed to be from the nation of 'la amour' or some other shit like that?"

Francis chuckled, lovingly kissing her nose and cheeks. This playful banter was comfortable, giving the both of them a moment to quiet their nerves. "Oui, I am. But even a Frenchman eez weak in ze presence of zhe goddess of l'amour." Before she could respond, Francis began rocking his hips, gently at first, sliding his cock out before pushing it back in. It was pleasurable and she let out small gasps and whimpers of enjoyment that blended with Francis' groans and grunts. He picked up his pace until, with Alice's encouragement, he was slamming into her, whispering words in French and English that made Alice blush and her breath catch.

Just as her legs were beginning to go stiff, her hips and back aching from the position she was in -hands clutching at Francis' back, him hunched over her, her legs wrapped around his torso, hers arched up high in order to feel his chest hair against her nipples and his heart beat against her breasts -she felt his back tense and he groaned, his hips slowing as he came, having enough common sense when he was done to fall to the side before turning completely limp with satisfaction. They both panted and, just as Alice was about to get up to, maybe, help Francis remove his condom, the Frenchman gasped, sitting up quickly before pushing her back down on the bed. "Francis, you bloody-!"

"Non! I must clean up!" he said, demanded, firmly, standing up in all his naked glory, "I am a gentleman et I must take care of you, mon cher."

With a huff of false annoyance, Alice laid back down on the bed, watching Francis remove his condom, tie it and throw it in the waste basket in his room. "Thank you..." she said quietly.

Francis turned her way and smiled, waking over and giving her a gentle peck. "Let me go get a glass of water for you."

And so he left, leaving Alice to come to her senses, blushing at what she had just done, and trying to overcome the irrational fear that Francis would someone leave the house, leave her in the bed, alone.

They were in Francis' house, after all.

It wasn't long before Francis returned with a glass of water and, surprisingly, a damp rag.

"What's...what's that for?" she asked as her boyfriend put the glass of water on his nightstand before kneeling between her legs.

"To clean you," he said with a blush. Weary, she opened her legs but sat up on her elbows, watching as he wiped off the slickness between her thighs and blood. Just when she had noticed the smeared crimson on her skin, Francis did, too, and he paled. "I...I 'urt you..." the blonde whispered, eyes trained in between her legs, "I 'urt you...Mon Dieu, I 'urt you! Alice, d-desole! I didn't...I would never-! I didn't realize I 'ad been doing eet zo 'ard! I never...you're a virgin, I know zhat, but I never...you are zhe first...I should 'ave been more careful, Alice, I-!"

"No, no, no!" Alice said quickly, cupping his face in her hands, his beautiful blue eyes wet with unshed tears, "Francis, darling, you didn't hurt me! At all! You were amazing! Sometimes...sometimes virgins bleed. Not every single one but some do. It was to be expected. You didn't hurt me..." She kissed him, lovingly, slowly, meaningfully, "Don't regret what we did, Francis, because I don't." And she was shocked to find it was true. She felt...off, shocked, perhaps, but she wasn't remorseful.

"Alice...I love you..." he said, throat thick and words choked.

She nodded, stomach full of lead and heart clenched. "I know..." Alice said, pressing their foreheads together and kissing his nose, "I know." The Brit couldn't say it yet, did not yet know for sure, and Francis knew this and, somehow, he didn't mind. He simply nodded, smiled, and kissed her cheek before he cleaned her cum and blood from her thighs, gave her the glass of water to drink and they laid down, naked, beneath the sheets together.

Francis breathing grew steady and Alice slid closer to him, putting her head on his chest to listen to his heart beat. "Francis...I think I might love you, too. Or, at least, starting to."

She could've sworn his grip on her waist tightened.

* * *

**WOW OK THAT'S FINISHED! Did I ever mention how sorry I am that it took me so long to fucking update?**

**Anywho I hoped you liked it! I promise I'll TRY and update faster. This is my senior year and I'm trying to do a lot of college crap and make something of myself *insert reluctant groan here***

**ANyway have a good day! (evening? What ever your time zone thing is like!)**

**~kitty**


End file.
